Rayni Wekluk

I am summer sprinkler–plant shopping, picking up fresh 
sourdough from Grandpa. Milk in the         cupboard.
Mind, absent.         Holy hell on the highway, windows
down in March. I get a call, I give a call. My IUD 
consultation        is Friday. I am already pregnant
with myself. Supposedly, I love you.     How can I be so
cantered? Gut talk.     Want to grab dinner tonight? 
Walk by the house on Batt Blvd. where a cereal bowl 
and spoon sit        unturned    in the lawn?
You are not     the love of my life.      Francis is         
your Catholic name. I saw a shooting star    right here    
in the city.     Blacked out–remember     I forgot 
to make a birthday wish     last year    with you
standing beside me?    My cake had spiders on it. Daniel
is your father’s name. Pain is         when 
    I say    Universe, walk with me        and no prayer 
churns you. If I look good, I feel good. Top-shelf     red.
Break the capers, break        the bread. Take my name 
under your tongue.     Bird in girl world,         
plenty of sky    to hold     each night. Plenty of moons to turn
you nothing-ward.     After so long,        I sing.

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