After Jean Valentine's Death

The dental hygienist takes his time flossing mymolars his eyes are still on the left cavity so bigI can see it in the mirror. When I am sad

I think of Jake Gyllenhaal's face, agave syrupin lemonade, my great-grandmother finallydying, the base of my neck touched by another's

hand; sometimes, even my own. I am not interested in askingquestions: Jean, the scariest part about A Nightmareon Elm Street? Misogyny. Answering is so easy. My ego:

sometimes, I mishear Taylor Swift lyrics and think mineare better. My stomach bubbles openwith acid reflux into my throat (nurse laughs when I say

grief): my microbiology professor says he didn't study infectiousdiseases as an undergrad they thought, then, they'd endedcontagion. Jean, I am sorry, silly for thinking you'd ended

mine. As a game, I say huh? when my dad saysI love you. The cap of my prescription bottle shouts: FLUSHOTS SAVE LIVES. List of lifesavers: porch

light, dirty windows, short leashes, brokenbear traps, smoke. Is this what you wanted? My fathertold me never to turn my back on the ocean. Once, I

fell to the mottled Monterey water. My grandfather sittingon a beach chair. My face in the sand, I grabbed my cousin'sankle. I'm too heavy. He shakes me off. Later, he says

better one than two. Jean, teach me about quiet magic: learning a new word and seeing it everywhere. A splitstarfish turned two bodies. Ten arms? The breath between

couplets. Punish me with every valance between missand want. I couldn't sleep last night; I can't rememberthe last time I heard my dog bark. It's been at least

a year. Imagine being quiet for that long. Why am I asking youto imagine? I'm invested in assumptions: the differencebetween silt and clay. Do I know? My professor

squeezes soil samples into ribbons behind a faceshield. Silt won't ribbon like clay. What about loamyclay? Silty loam? The color chart reads 10 YR 4/2. Roots

grow in anything loose. Indiana state soil? Miami. I'veonly been taught to measure deviation. Every building on EastAlisal is a bridal store and I fucking hate it. I'm not

getting any younger; people say shit like that. I justasked you to imagine being quiet for a year. I say he hasn'tbarked in a year as if I'm always listening. I'm so

angry that you're dead. I like being selfish like that: I'm singingthe seconds before another car splits the median and breaksboth my legs. The first time I went under anesthesia, I couldn't

stop laughing: how useless prayer would be just thenonly when I am at the dentist do I imagine someoneto take baths with. Jean, what else can I say

to bring you back? After I altered DNA for the first time—my hands, glass rod, centrifuge—I started crossingthe street to avoid stepping on the grass. Jean, is it okay for me

to imagine someone to track my flights, to check the tidechart before I dip? Jean, save me from the next riptide. I'm justtrying to find glasses that make me look less ugly: my brain keeps

saying shit like because the moon is a frisbee stuckon a roof, and maybe that's what I meant when I said Imissed you. What do I know? Calculate percent sand after forty seconds

make temperature corrections (+0.4 g with every degreeabove 25 Cº). Use plastic covers to maximize crop yield, clearfor greenhouse because what do I say when I am asked how

to best manage farmland? Increase bushels per acre while minimizingcost per bushel. Watch out for deer ticks. I don't know whatmargins are. This is about Jake Gyllenhaal as much as it is about

anyone else, because what if I amthe woman who paints her nails on her balcony...