the orangest fruits

the small pile of presents
wrapped in pastels
and edited with cut-out hearts
so that the recycled toilet paper wrapping
doesn’t say who gives a crap over and over
on the presents

wrapped for the apocolypse juniper jokes
while working apart the paper taped
to the boxes that hold
the home-sewn tarot pouch
the best earl gray tea
and one book and one book
juniper on the phone talking to the astrologer
while i pluck the orangest fruits of the sungold selects
off the vines


lisi-cat chasing the crinkly-sounding paper
around the kitchen
sliding over and over again
into the rug in front of the sink
like a softball player sliding into home base

we stop on our way out of the cemetary
to touch the pine limb
fallen from it’s trunk
so huge around
it looks like a trunk itself
we tack our fingers
with the sap
that gathers
on the splintered edges
utlizing the double spatula move
to slide the top two of three layers
of lemon poppyseed cake back
onto the first layer they slid off of
slicked up with lemon curd

it’s hard to light the zero,
it has no beginning, no endpoint i say
while the 5 sparkler candle is already going
on top of the cake
and the 0 sparkler candle
refuses to take

are we high tamara asks
in the middle of the absurd conversation
that is loosely based around theories
we feel to be true
and provide the evidence
to back them up


no one’s ever done that for me before she says
of the birthday extravaganza in multiple parts
you taught me i reply