Rebecca Valley
In The Yard

I find a hole
And put my hand in it
What am I waiting for?
Trees move a little
When I look at them
In spring, like this,
I am consumed by
My expectations
Bugs underneath, bugs above
I have always
Been part of the
micro-economy of dirt
All day someone pays me
To write about systems
That don’t matter
To animals
My hand in the dark
Groping
Like any daughter
I underestimate the cost
Of loving
Unconditionally
With no return
On investment

*

Miniature

Make the bed, I say. Make a diorama of the ruin

The stage is set your bowl of oats my latex
pants I dream of sex and never tell you

In contrast, blue isn’t just sad but
a little arrogant

If there's a tree outside the window it's warning us.
Someone in a boat coming to find me.

I don’t miss the real world. I miss my little replica