box of jars

alison palmer
Best to Ignore Those Other Worlds
There is nothing here to do but wait.

With the trowel at my feet I plant onions,
sharply into the mask of dirt.

In my mind, a fresh pack of cigarettes
and matches; I left my lighter behind.

I was dropped out of this dream.

It will take three months for the sweets
to grow, depending on the variables. 

You posted a new picture on Facebook,
which means you are still alive.

It is a beautiful picture of the pink and
purple cloud formation I wish to call

Undulatus Asperatus, but I am no cloud-
expert, and they may not undulate enough.

My body feels permanently strange, its own 
foreign language I've not yet learned.

You work with vague intention, the weather.

You are a water lily dream, the space
between clouds where blue meets blue.