Meant to post these awhile ago...

Published in The Hiss Quarterly (thanks, Cynthia):

Roadkill
When I saw the squirrel, it had not been dead a long time.
One arm squashed flat to the pavement, the other raised
in a posthumous salute, middle digit extended.


and...
Poppies

In the cemetery, a hill
dotted with red corn poppies.
Unknowing, I danced
under ochre leaves.

Mommy and daddy stayed for a long time.

Now I look at the stone,
weathered,
artificially ancient,
and shake the branches until
they rain fire.

He was only six.