Even though the drifting pollen
makes me cry, irritates and itches
when I breathe it
the pink blossoms on the trees and
the pink budding fists that will grow
make me stay.
It’s still too cold to lay in the grass like this.
I try to take a picture
but the lens never captures the image
quite right; the bullshit
buildings in the background, the filter
of bird sounds through traffic, the way
the prettier pieces linger
when I close my eyes and will the sunlight
against my face.
An eviction notice was
taped to the door
when I woke up.
I think vaguely through couches
and my parents' house while I scrub down
the kitchen floor, the spots my bike tires
left on the walls, a yellow stain on the carpet
beneath a potted plant and the vegetable drawers
in the refrigerator.
My old bedroom is a library
and a smoke room, lingering
nag champa on the throw rugs and armchair,
my velvet blackout curtains replaced with
something willowy and sheer.
I’ve slept drunk on t