if change is a kind of death

cricket, sometimes sitting and sometimes
up on her hind legs, in the black plastic crate
bungee’d to mica’s bike rack as we pedal
to the fabius and back
biking over the train track overpass
on A where i always hope a train is roaring past
and today, our timing is just right
as we pedal through the mighty moving sounds
of freight car after freight car on the tracks
blue white orange and all kinds of rust
stacked up and rattling underneath us
to our left and right, no end to be seen
how i howl out a yes while pedaling forward
the rock and roll adverb video
trish and em watch in the kitchen while i cook
a morning egg and occasionally dance along

sun becoming lower in they sky these days
tis the season of prism rainbows again
tossed on walls and glowing bright
the slow shutdown
that ensues at the news of another looming
(two person) departure
and how over pizza i say something about sadness and closed-offness
but that i’ll come around – it just might take a while
for your birthday i say
handing christina a glass of water

the crinkling butcher paper
wrapped around the salted caramel chocolate cake slice
alline hands me
you don’t want to know what’s in it alline says
the sweet librarian said
of the carrot cake that alline thought was so good
she shouted WHO MADE THIS CAKE!?!!?
until the librarian answered
the heat of moonstar the cat’s exhales
on the bit of my wrist that peeks out
from the cuff of a cotton plaid button-up
if change is a kind of death i write
then even death you’ve done before
which i’m saying because maybe
this knowing might lessen the fear

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