We hung our posters at the drugstore, at the grocery, at city hall. I tacked up a 1970s Earth Day poster from my mother’s classroom. We tie-dyed shirts, and I bought everyone a plastic visor to paint.
There is a pure fear, in waking somewhere you have not lain down. She runs until her blisters bleed. Then, she runs some more.
I am determined to praise my particular world, so I must praise you.
I can remove my hand the second it becomes too much for me.
Let there not be stench. Let the itch inside my skin quiet. Let the smell of my body be the lushness of a green wetland.
I only divine the cat’s location when I hear its small cough.