I believe the body is a continent,
with the occasional skirmish of the leg,
a reconstitution of the skin,
a revolution in the blood.
During the divorce, my mother sang,

It’s impossible.

In junior high my body held the line
of flag football when Joe Nims
caught the ball and rushed left.
Charging me, growing larger
as a function of perspective.

Please release me.

Can the brain gain weight?
When I was six my father
handed me a lit firecracker
with no explanation
on the Fourth of July.

Make the world go away.

No keys to hang,
I bought rabbits’ feet
at the drugstore
in pink, green, and blue.
Rubbed them in my pocket

if a bully stole my lunchbox.

In heaven all of my pets
come back. The seasons
put me here. I want to tell
my story. I will fall
from the limb in a cradle.