all of my wrist watches are dead
but i wear them anyway.
yes, i’m being that girl, the one
with beautiful messes, the everything
not on purpose; babe with bedhead;
venus with sliced vice.
i remember circling gift stores,
a furious search for tchotchke
to knock around my heart forever,
to pump important nostalgia and gloom,
to remember the vacation out west when i
got my first period, blood on the shower floor,
dry heat and canyon dust stuck to my young young parts.