how to start a fire

By all means, bring up my mother
Fail to take out the trash of our lives
Tell me how you’d like me to [eat / sleep / speak / breathe]
Say you wish I looked more like [celebrity / celebrity / celebrity]
and would be more [adjective / superlative adjective / unattainable adjective]
Whisper [vulgarity / her name / nothing] in my ear at night
Don’t answer when I [call / text / email]
Say you’re not big on [phone calls / talking / communication]
Tell me you’re [busy / hungry / tired]
Leave [dinner / gifts / doctor’s appointments] to me
Fawn over [that actress / our neighbor / your office wife]
Tell the [dog / your mother / the kids] you love them but not me
Ask me, Do you really want [seconds / a career / children]
Walk ahead of me in the [city / crowd / woods]
There it is: a [flame / fire / conflagration]


shore

The town towed the raft away today,
swimmers left bereft
as if the sun, too, were on the hitch.
On the faded fence
keys freed from pockets
sunbathe, swimsuits drip dry,
towels drape like napping flags—
all the bodies you love at rest
kissed clean by saltwater memories,
everything damp in a way
you didn’t know joy could be,
crashing your coast in gentle waves,
shorebirds singing about it to the tune
of I've been trying to tell you.


 

Jaqi Holland is a poet, essayist, and copyeditor living north of Boston who holds an MA in Writing & Publishing from Emerson College. Her work has appeared in Humana Obscura, The Ekphrastic Review, The Christian Science Monitor, Plant People: an Anthology of Environmental Artists, and Flora/Fauna: a Collection of Nature Poetry & Photography. You can find more of her work at JaqiHolland.com