on the rise of her

liana how-are-YOUs
the grocery store greeter
(in that sunspill-of-light
way that she does)
who sits with his head leaning
in his chair

she salutes the orchids
deep purple
magenta streaked

kid with cartoon crabs
printed red on blue jacket
plucking dinosuars from
the build-your-own terrarium station

superhero outfit or tennis dress
i ask after exiting the dressing room
to reveal the swooshed dri-fit
light blue gold print
ruth gilmore the salvation
army cashier says
i know that name i reply
she writes about prisons
she explains

in the newly-moved-into kitchen
we make to do with
a tiny cutting board and
tv tables for counters
slipper socks for all
april delivers
on this grainy (gray/rainy) late afternoon

they make me so happy i say, almost crying
about the flower beds
and the plants in them
i could almost cry right now

it’s so sweet and ends
with this beautiful heat
april says about the raspberry
chipotle chutney
while we chomp our
piles of nachos
and special delivery
brat-fest vegan brats

first we shake
to get the ink going on the
ceramic-ware pens
and then we craft
canoes and vags and
lady gardens onto
a set of ceramic mugs

the dangerous combo
of acro-yoga and
slippery unicorn leggings
resulting in laugh-fest on
living room floor
chin perched on the rise
of her ribs we talk
ourselves towards

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