audreySL

he wakes me up at 7:00 on the dot. he jumps into my bed and licks my face until i sit up. he bounds around on three legs. a dog took his other one. he was adopted from foster care.

The pressure on your chest weakens as the craft gradually decelerates to a halt, and you find all the mass has been pulled out of you, leaving only your volume.

vermont is a half-finished poem with all the lines scratched out. 

grandfathers who’ve lived here their whole lives still talk of leaving,