"Never Trust A Snowglobe" by Caroljean Gavin

In the palm of my hand I harbor

Fault lines, one-way streets,

A famous bridge half-crossed and

Another I steered from the passenger’s seat

While the driver smoked weed

Such honking dreams in the patchouli,

Of frolicking unhindered, of

Slapping my feet in my Sunday shoes

Down my aunt’s hardwood hallway.

The earthquakes always come.

I’ve cracked off into the ocean.

Every day’s dawn yawns a

Salty horizon, and the fog rises off the water

And the fog rides into town, and the fog bowls me down,

And sits on my chest, reading off a checklist of regrets

I am so thirsty

And my irises are turning gray and

It never snows in San Francisco no matter what

The souvenirs say.

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Caroljean Gavin called us from Winston-Salem, NC.

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