.baby, you plus me.

Dearest madam,
It’s March already and the fire
danger is high—dead growth, old
winter, dry wind and etc.  So tomorrow
I’ll marry you. With water
we can ease the shock
of transplant. Sunflowers
and nightshade for you, if you wish,
radishes. We’ll thin our lives to their
strongest points. Good things will swing
toward us broad-hipped as cellos.
The long evenings will crumple
in our four fists like receipts
for small purchases.
- E

Oh, hello there,
I sorrowed much
to hear of
your vast affection. Physicians
say there is no
known cure.
Except maybe the
old wives’ remedy:
salt on your heels, red
cabbage in your armpit
(left or right), 30 years between
the walls of your father’s
house, eating red beans,
reading only reviews of new
appliances by a narrow crack
of light.
- P