harvest

broaster chicken on speed dial
fans oscillating from every corner
dust devils gyring in the living room
the fridge texts — low on oat milk

house heaves a sigh of desperation
wants to set upon squarely on a witch
but they’re far and few

seventeen year cicadas unleash the chainsaw torrent
at once the air is electrified
a sharp tang on the tongue-tip

welcome home

What I’m Reading:

I’d been looking for the “right” place to sleep each night, as if not finding it would leave us stranded. But now I thought, wherever we are at the end of the day, we’ll be somewhere, and we can sleep there. It might not be comfortable and safe, but it will still be somewhere.

— Emily Buehler / Somewhere & Nowhere: A Bicycle Journey Across America