I carefully zip and unzip, would hate to snag any of this leather I plan to pack. I know won't show over the microphone in the darker room. Nothing on her isn't moving. Gonna lay it on you. Born in Memphis, got a nickel for bread, went to Chicago.
Jade presses screens.
Night moths pleat into themselves like skirts from the fifties. Sun tea on slate. Blue sandals left near my mother's bed. Spackle of branches' shadow on redwood. The cat coils under the micro wave, ex- cited by garbage trucks as I open mail, a little cautious as if something dangerous could be there.