"Beyond Jasmine" and "Em," by Diane Passero

"Beyond Jasmine"

The chandelier

drips champagne

children speak

in tongues

off to the side

I land in white pigmented sand

sink down to my knees

            weak and skinned

            children piss in the river

                        can’t find their ghost stories

stars roll out

            sugar jars appear empty

 coyotes sleep on pillows

swallow their breath

             

shallow pools of milk

Dear Em, never jump from a

plane unless your parachute is
a tiger swallowtail

"Em,"

Sometimes when I’m human I brew coffee in the morning.  I feed my cat.  I leave my luggage in the living room with the cat.  Six days I feed the cat.  On the seventh, I rest.  He does not eat.  He unpacks my luggage and becomes human.  Sometimes when he is human he brews coffee in the morning and feeds me toast for breakfast but only when he has hands.  When he has paws he only walks around the kitchen looking for me.  He doesn’t find me.  I am in the luggage with his sometimes hands.