winter’s been a persistent dove on my shoulder, spreading her wings, igniting snow. we keep leading dead horses to the water in hopes to quench an unnamable thirst. dull fires thrum a silent disco inside me, my ribs are porcelain wind chimes, crooning like the old saints once did, relegating forgotten prophecies to the bone-dry sky, torching poppies in their wake
my boy keeps his baby blues glued to the calendar, july’s something sacred, half-cherished, july is a death in the fields, a knight with his sword drawn. he mentions his father less & less these days, i’ve come to believe this lesson in practiced forgetfulness is healthy
we talked about getting lost in the woods, building our own little house, adorning it with scar tissue & floating candles & moose skulls.
hot milk on the kitchen table, fairy lights against the ceiling, something pink glowing from outside the window, a view of a lazy lake, maybe a moth-trap
last night i dreamt i was seven again and my mother was braiding my hair and teaching me how to paint, i still keep all her drawings tucked into my jacket pocket, they reflect summers lost & never unearthed again
i plan on having another cat, we already have two but the rescue shelter is getting overcrowded & needs our help
outside, a baby rosy-faced lovebird landed on the fountain, she had a broken wing so she’s going to live with us until she’s fully healed
this monday it rained & rained until the trees burned a lazarus green & the foxes came out to play, they devoured a few fruit & craneflies
they’re broadcasting another storm on tv, but their predictions are often inaccurate, so we’re going to go about our regular activities anyway
his grandmother’s coming to visit tomorrow, i have to: i. set the table ii. repaint the guest bedroom iii. grab some pliers from the tool shed iv. bake cinnamon pie v. return her perfume
on tuesday, i’m dyeing my hair a peacock green
i still have to schedule my next thrift store visit
the bumblebees are coming out again, i’ve been feeling like there’s a peach pit stuck in my throat, the local party store is hosting an early halloween sale, a group of high school kids etched their names into our sidewalk, and there’s another full moon coming soon
This small parrot is native to the Namib Desert and other dry areas of southwest Africa. One of the most common captive parrots, there is also an established feral population in Phoenix, Arizona. This breeding population has been in the area since at least the mid-1980s and can be found nesting in saguaro cacti and palm trees. The Rosy-faced Lovebird’s diet is mostly made up of seeds and berries. The birds may form large flocks when these foods are plentiful. They carry nesting materials by tucking them into their tail feathers and build nests in rock crevices, old Sociable Weaver nests, and man-made structures.