Jordan Stempleman
I’ll Leave It On
I came back tomorrow
to a sickness. The fisherman
I thought I was, cultivated the formless
squeeze elegiacally enough,
but so far, the traits are not triumphs, the still worried
use us to their advantage.
You might as well know, tonight
I miss my aunt. Although she sent my daughter,
when my daughter was young enough
to understand, a pooped up outfit
covered with snowmen and crosses.
This is my aunt. There are still so many strangers
I’ll never talk about.
