https://positjournal.com/tag/merridawn-duckler/

Waiting for medication, I dream of Fresno.
Kristi Yamaguchi, writing on a silver wall had tried twirling, moving a ball from side to side.
Now she is start-fish and lavender, a queen and an author.
In the best parks, at Point Lobos, a little cabin where fishermen trembled.
In the Valley of Fire, a garden of rocks.
At Slide Rock, the junipers are suffused, as we hunt for that verb the good part of an afternoon.
In the Lewis and Clark Caverns, caves never entirely empty.
At Antelope Island, the pronghorn.
In the best of state, mine was Silver Falls, where once I stood under the roar and understood this land was lodged in me like a bullet.
Left out was the little park in Fresno, where I dedicated myself to only one god.

This is what we should do.
I guess, we eat first, in Trinidad, by someone with the name Bridget Hand.
I yearned to write names for these bougis! Pages and pages of turnstiles and castles.
Where have I wasted my life next?