about God & the ghost of my childhood
dog sleeps under the sun of my stained
glass window & I remember the first shot
of the bitter black on my ten year old
tongue & wonder how I ever became addicted
to the blood of beans & the birds are singing
about spring but it is 40 degrees & I wish
my mother were here to tell me to slow
down & my orange tree has sprouted
children & I think about how my younger self
loved the pulsing fruit of summer & wonder when
did my tongue stop craving sugar