the post calvin

H is for Hoax

When scrawled or scratched on the skin of a beast
Or the earth’s frozen entrails, or the flesh
Of a leaf-maker, then I last longer.

The days don’t vary much, and nobody minds.

I don’t know what home means without you.

I began to evaluate and push back and question. How much was I erased as a student? Where did my own beliefs lie dormant as I absorbed others’ words?

I picked through the trash for the unraveled strands of yarn and carried them outside.

When unchecked, they are bad toddlers, eating bags of gummy bears and staying up all night.

I can never remember summer in the midst of a polar vortex, but I’m comforted and chastised that it comes.

After I have been
Back in the United States for a few weeks, I find myself
Crying at the strangest things.

I’ve had people rip up my fliers, call the cops on me, and even fling dog shit at me.

In separating ourselves from our emotions, are we losing what makes us most effective?