so says the straw hat

Texas has a forked tongue, snakes that swim fast on water and chase on land. Texas has sidewalks that end. Texas roads read like braille on bike tires. Texas is big enough like lonely. Lonely like lovely. Lovely lights howling static electric blankets behind night clouds. Texas has a forked tongue, two-sided. One rough, one dry. Out on the balcony we wear hardly clothes. Hug naked knees since lightning makes cold makes goosebumps we have forgotten how to house. Let us be girls again. Third grade. Let us be scared of these fast swimming snakes, of forks and of the thunder too. Holding close to naked knees.

These states I have never been to, not even once, not even through windows: 1. North Dakota 2. South Dakota 3. Nebraska 4. Utah 5. Arkansas 6. Iowa 7. Minnesota 8. Wisconsin 9. Maine 10. Vermont 11. New Hampshire 12. West Virginia 13. Kentucky 14. Tennessee There is time yet. I am young.

states i have been to in the past six months: (my flower is a list) A. Bellingham, WA 1. California 2. Nevada 3. Arizona 4. New Mexico through a train window 5. Texas. Three times. Once, I gave my heart away. 6. Louisiana 7. Mississippi, where we shared pie 8. Alabama rest stop 9. Florida. Twice. Four cities and the greyhound busses. I fled both times. 10. Illinois. Most of my time. 11. Indiana through car windows and polite conversation. And again, in a minivan, full of poets. 12. Ohio 13. Pennsylvania 14. New Jersey. Driving through, flying out of and into, and falling asleep inside. 15. New York. Three times, but never for a full day. 16. Connecticut. Took long walks looking for ghosts. Built fires and burned them. 17. Massachusetts felt like home. 18. Delaware drive-by 19. Maryland (twice) became my bike-gang, estuary, firefly trap, and slumber party 20. Washington DC on bicycles, wanted popsicles, and free museums 21. Virginia (windows) 22. North Carolina (...) 23. South C