I

I cry before rainstorms:
blotchy, salt-streaked tracks,
and snot-slicked upper lip.
It’s not pretty, but you know
the fishing’s going to be good.

II

Ten goats died,
four because I was on a date
with a smoker who had to pause the evening
a half dozen times to light up.
And I came home late
to a tangle of triplets.

III

There’s a spider in my hair.
I can feel it spinning,
playing strands of web
or hair
across my forehead-
I can’t tell the difference anymore
but it itches all the same.

IV

If you find me leaving the bed
in the middle of the night,
twisting into a worry of clothes,
saying that I forgot to feed the horses:
Please remind me
that I only own goats.

Originally published in Variety Pack: Issue V (2021).