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Joy, Death and Cream

Brandon Shimoda

~ Joy

The figs have all been eaten
and she watches the perfect leaves

imperfect. Children come home more often
than they used to, shedding their enormity

at the door. Beneath, they are list
and skinniness. Tell me about what grows

you, daughter
, dropping
with as much intention as the fruits she ate. 


~ Death

Work, then death, and then wonder:
the day brings her from the angled freeze

of thought, to her seat on the train, south
along the coast. Gold and grit

particle. Out the window,
the sight of so many people in the waves;

waiting and catching a wave
makes her blue with longing; waiting is work. 


~ Cream

She comes out of nowhere
wearing a skirt of ice and

a blouse of air. Made stronger by myth
and 14% butterfat. Separated from us

by pine trees and lights, diffused
through height and wet. In the moment

when she frosts us with a single light,
we are illuminated, to caution against her.

 



Brandon Shimoda

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