ART BY AVA HUDSON

Dust-covered boxes —
My brother’s baseball bat leans
on the closet door.

       A meal for us both —
       I crush the garlic under
       my father’s knife.

         An overcast sky —
         Between sips of black coffee,
         we do the crossword.

           Quiet confession —
           The birds outside sing in the
           eucalyptus trees.

               The smell of her soap —
               Sideways embrace in the front
               seat of my dad’s car.

A verse about God —
My mother’s guitar is too
big for my body.