Ambivalent
 
I’m learning how to live both ways.
That is, with intense doubt and
Uncontainable joy— 
The kind that comes out in bursts of laughter 
That can’t be explained
As anything I’ve asked for or earned.
I haven’t asked for it, 
Or anything for that matter
But here are blurred skies,
Pop songs, an unprecedented love of succulents,
So many kinds of plastic,
Backpacking for fun,
And the sun (what is the sun?)—  
One day, I was hiking with my sister and a friend
We stuffed our mouths with blueberries
And I almost spewed them onto the forest floor
From laughter.
There’s a picture of it: sunburned face, cheeks dimpled and bulging with berries
And the blur of my hand ready to catch them 
In case they flew out.

Measuring
​
A hop, skip, and a jump
across mason jars that connect us 
in the kitchen, your aprons have never 
matched mine. I always see if we can throw 
spoonfuls of sauces across the island 
to each other. I think we should constantly 
be testing the laws of attraction
and of fate. When we sleep sometimes 
I pretend you’re someone else
so when we wake up I can’t lie 
to myself before I look at you,
so I can’t prepare what I feel. 
I need that one renewed, fresh second 
of feeling, seedling of truth before 
we start to scatter spices on counter tops 
throughout the day 
and finish each other’s recipes.