cast in ribcage

my finger on emory’s loose lower
(canine-ish?) tooth

how we all crowd around
the phone on the porch table
and first it is alton’s voice
then it is alton’s voice speaking dine’
and then it is grandmother bessie’s voice
speaking dine’ back
that blooms in me, or rather,
reminds me of one of many seeds
cast in my ribcage
how the sunset
as i’m running east
lays patches of orange light
on the incline of gravel road ahead
and how when i get to the top
of the hill
i turn to face an entire molten magnificence

wake you i say
with a cold slice of watermelon
from the walk-in


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