priscilla becker





I think I prefer now being unloved

and listening for my footsteps in the dark.


There was a tree in the yard—

not any more—

whose crooked branch I’d watch.


I held a ceremony in which I married

my black dog.


There is a certain smell

that overtakes me, for instance

once in a button shop.


And then I came to disregard.


Also a kind of nakedness

that has to do with words.


I made a list

of things I’d like. I tied

a string. The sound as when your foot

breaks through the snow,

that sound was in the house.