yamaha summer

​

a field of strawberries & two 

             rusted ten yen coins, a quartz striped 

 

pebble, peach pits, a whole piano concert 

             from the afternoon you dragged me off that yamaha

 

& into the car. heat bubbling my stomach 

             into my throat, into my forehead—sweat

 

dribbling from the corners of my eyes 

             down to my chin as i steamed, tugging

 

at the itchy polyester sleeves of that stupid 

             violet dress eight years ago, as your fists swelled

 

against the tinted windows of your Audi, your face

             wrinkling like a petunia without sun.

 

you and mama fought, soundless, just

             mouths puckering and peeling open like fish.

 

i traced the little rivers in my palms 

             to their roots, wondering if you loved me.