Ground Day’s Hog

TONGUES OUT

Some say it's water where music's felt, some say it's the heart, for me it's the stomach.
My friend AJ's dog Posey, the moment we see each other, after a day, or a week, or a year,

even after several hours, we flip to our backs, our limbs go wild, our tongues hang out. We scuttle toward each other and embrace.

I've traveled to New Mexico just to spend time with her. AJ pedals off to work, or with his lover, and Posey and I nap, walk acequias, visit bookstores, eat out, ride the bus, stretch in the sun, look at the ground, our favorite activity.

RULE OF THUMB

Never date non-fiction writers, especially not memoirists, or personal essayists. No one deserves to have their names changed or withheld by someone else.

EVERYTHING

My sister says everything is toxic and I think that's just so cool. Everything is green and bubbly and burns. Everything turns people into superheroes.

CAFÉ

About an hour in, he turned his pelvis in his seat, toward the door.
"The pelvis is a good way to gauge interest in a conversation," said Profesora B-C in dance

class one morning.
I can't unsee it now.
"The pelvis has left the building!"
The pelvis is in the building. Now it's in, now it's out.

SONGS

Honey locust yellow
Jenny it's nice to know you again

Cottonwood yellow
Sometimes AJ I cry when I think of you

Highway line yellow
I get stoned when I think of you Julia

KALE

We grazed hands in the rinsing sink.

JULIA

I wait, moist, for her reply.

SURFACES

There's nothing better than feeling cute and cold in a long Northeastern coat in a short Northeastern town, with all the other cute, cold, long people.

Faces retracted into scarves, only eyeballs roam above the surfaces of fabrics, and shoulders lean under the weight of last-minute grocery runs, before the freeze sets in.

PM

I live on the slightest bits of air. The slightest bits I can ride I hover on.

JULIA

We're hawks.