The girl with little 
fingers pulls big dreams 
from her head like 
rabbits: albinos on their 

hind legs dancing twostep, 
tuning kazoos. Out of 
Jokes, & if any 
remain, they’re the kind 

with little wiggle room,
or food they like 
to choose from: artisanal
bread, organic fruit & 

vegetables, vegan cheese. May 
all the little bigsters 
bow, kowtow to their 
freeness, flatten their squares 

to four-word lines: 
quatrains + a couplet.
                        

Rain strafed the streets for days. Lightning on the skyline bolted east—
the bottlebrush and sacred fig illumined in the flicker. Mynahs 
and the emerald parrots—usually shrill, went still. 
The wind-up to the giant’s strike was on—      

When he struck and broke his back on the inundated city—
windows rattled, buildings shook, the trees salaamed, the animals hid. 
People counted the hours. Earth stood ground and took the fury 

into her bosom and womb. After the wrath, she held her face 
to the sun without a grunt. Some of us were listening.