Tom Nook takes my teeth as collateral.

Sells me a house by the peach trees.

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I poach the neighbors’ peaches.

A fox tells me I have an eye for art.

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My eyes bring home counterfeit paintings.

So I furnish my house with wildflowers.

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A house of flowers is bad Feng Shui.

Evening blurs my breath with cicadas.

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I net the cicadas in evening’s breath.

Thursday, I dream of the good flight.

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Thursday, I undrown a bird on the beach.

He promises to send souvenirs from Paris.

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Every souvenir secretes sand. 

The river memorizes my cry.

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The river landscapes my loneliness.

Morning makes more sense in my head.

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Morning hands me motions to memorize.

For every seashell not sold, a meteor shower.

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For every spoiled turnip, a meteor shower.

The animal neighbors say hush. We cried, too.

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The animals smile the future into my skin.

Tom Nook returns my teeth and cowers.

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