Adèle Barclay

Take photos of cherry blossoms until the memory of winter recedes

Citysong timbre melts at the speed of glass. Excuse the radiator’s cough. I fish for pride
in a pond, carry bullfrogs bloated in a bucket with a snake my sister caught. What would
Robert Batemen do? He’d say milkweed is the monarch’s home and the least you could
do is plant some in your backyard but O, you’ve only a fire escape so stop your best
friend from smoking off of it when he visits the coast. There’s a whole city waiting to not
notice me fuck up. I offer my guests cream even though I don’t have any. The umbrellas I
stole from bars will keep them warm in this split season of white pepper and grease. A
zinc rattle in the hall marks days and mail I haven’t checked. I water aloe I can’t give to
butterflies.