evidence

the neighbour’s dog is howling and there’s chaga tea in my cup and there’s also my

favourite bus driver coming down bank street. there’s his mouth on the back of my neck.

there’s an acutely studied whorl on a thumbprint. there’s old anger softening, turning

foamy under soggy leaves. there’s a damn tear in my tights and leftover pumpkin pie

and an old friend shouting hello to me from her car. there’s another story he lets me

send away. there’s play, becoming serious, and seriousness, becoming play. there are

so many things – and the proof will be this october body.