Raw Goods Inventory

    Oh， clouds that do not look like cherubs¹， move over！ My heart

    isn‘t big enough to include you. The crows shit on

    my car every morning， such

    gratuitous² little fellows—the things I never asked for. Oh， unrecognized

    genius， the modest beauty wasting from

    illness， the good-kid-turned-bad. Failing

    grade， summer heat. Oh， row of desks I loathed³ sitting at. In

    school， we hatched chickens from an incubator， eggs

    in rotation⁴， the chicks deformed⁵. One

    with thin chest skin and no ribs—the organs sludged

    and its cheep-cheep cries. The animals my mother made me

    return—the rabbit， the toad⁶， the slug. Oh， child

    tossing a ball alone！ The dandelions are systematically⁷ doused⁸

    with chemicals—the chemicals you‘ll sniff⁹

    as a teenager， the brain the unrepining side-kick.

    Dear sister whom I cannot relate to， I surrendered my popsicles

    to you！ Friend who kept my videotapes. Ex-lover，

    you fall so clumsily through old poems. Book， you

    looked better on the shelf！ Oh， the philomaths are paraphrasing¹⁰

    other people‘s theories， the same dribble¹¹！ Numbers and words，

    teleological¹² trinkets that can‘t retain the world. Over

    a thousand monarchs¹³ frost-nipped in Mexico—untranslatable

    odor. Oh， sex-drive that won‘t be active forever！ Oh，

    old woman I will someday become！ Take stock now， I say， use

    your flexibility¹⁴. Stomach stay flat， breasts don‘t droop¹⁵ any time

    soon. Oh， body， you were once small

    and resilient—you could shimmy through

    tight places. Mind， you were sparked； heart， uninjured. I am

    such a thing. Lazy day. Oh， wizened¹⁶ hickory，

    I too grow out of myself.