heaven
is filled with
laughter dripping
down
from
the eaves.
it will greet me
with
wide margins,
and
endless fields
of tall grasses
swaying
on a feather’s breath,
and swaths
of quiet hush
and there are
a thousand
secret places
to be
and alone
but never
lonely.
and all
the words
i have
ever needed
will be there
in heaven
where
the eaves
drip
with laughter.
-Jan Avellana, 2018
I have
a jelly jar
of memories,
with a metal lid.
I poked holes in it
so the memories can breathe,
but not get out.
It would make a good
wildflower vase—
I could stick the tender stems
into the holes
so they sway just so.
But I won’t.
It is only
for keeping
memories.
-J. Avellana, 2019
I
am
a
weed
woody,
gangly,
no
lipstick,
no
shine.
But
I
know
how
to
grow
through
cement.
I
know
how
to
take
a
sliver
of
filtered
sunlight
and
a
teaspoon
of
dirt
and
make
a
life.
I
can’t
go
deep
so
I
go
wide,
fingers
crawling
under
city
streets,
down
past
Front
Street—
and
around
the
corner,
to
the
end
of
the
block
and
back
again.
-Jan Avellana, 2019