Sadie Lou

I.

What I mean to say is, I never
forgave the grass
behind me. What fortune
could be staked in tulips? Blazelily’s?
I’d rather heave the heart beneath
mulch, part licks of stem
so the vertigo settles.

II.

We are cliffs, spine bent
into the ocean’s pant.
No willing soul leaves
fate in whiskey bottles, hope corded
through sailor’s script. Battle
the tug of ill-fated seagulls,
come home with me.