by Rachel Khosrowshahi
I don’t have a fair view of houses
For I lived in a single wall home on stilts
Caught from some other silver
I chink out certain Saw blades
For kidney on the back table
Which I received into my heart
An isolate language took my plow
My algebra switched instruments.
I did all my tasks by half and by hand.
I thought you walked on water then
But it was only a dry dock
Don't repeat this but I still have your boat slip
When I fall with a noose will you make it dark out
So the waves know if I will stir or I will stand
That last field is forthright fallow
Seasons first snow of waste winter day
I'll sail you in the morning.
An eel is a hard thing to skin or save
But a barrel seems cruel.
Didn’t you say it belongs with the baling wire
There was just one solution
You won't slip this house with me in it.
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R.Khosrowahahi is a writer and orchid grower in Hawaii