We had peach tree in the yard. I remember thinking about how small it was compared to other trees. My two year old Boxer, Sidd, circled around the tree. A whirlpool of force and breath. His harvesting ritual. He would grab one with his slobbering mouth as he ran around and around, eventually sinking into the grass to eat it. I watched him and laughed with delight. My dog loved to eat juicy, fuzzy peaches.
Then my mother would walk out back, see him on the ground, chewing away. “Sidd!” she yelled. “No!!” as she ripped the peach from his mouth. He looked up with his tail between his legs.
His sad eyes seemed so familiar.



your past and your future seduce each other
they dance in circles and
laugh at your spinning head
that seems  to 
until you throw up last night’s dinner

spaghetti and meatballs
because somewhere down the line
we came from Italy
and your grandmother and great aunt
grew their own tomatoes and did things
the way a real Italian woman would
or should

and then you thought about the cackles
that howl somewhere down deep
somewhere in a hole that you
dug a long time ago
you thought you swept the sound
underneath the cracks of concrete
but you were wrong

because now they were one
and the individual laughs
became just laughing
and when they squished together
they looked just like your mother’s face
the one you both share


He had skeletons in his closet;
I knew how to set them free.
We watch the bones turn to ash
in the October wind.

My blue Bic lighter flicks
and the composition paper burns
down by the water,
down into the earth.

Black ink dances in dust.
it smells like death.
it smells like life.
Breathe a new beginning.

Every wrong he’s done,
and all the wrong done to him
floats into the atmosphere.
Burning, dissipating, crumbling,
resurrecting into gray clouds.

The bones wail and mourn.
The closet is empty.
I wouldn’t let him keep the urn
even if he wanted to.