cleansing

i taught myself how to shoplift

with big sleeves on haight street

clumps of sage tucked behind

long fingers and chunky rings

make a few circles around the store

leave and walk away confidently

can't go back to the same place

twice with my pink hair green jeans

and glittered face in the cluttered

shops lined with rocks and soaps

i burn the sage slowly walking

around room to room before i

move out forever . i guess it

doesn't really cleanse it if it's

stolen but the smell is nice

i keep the half-burned bundle with me

in my backpack next to the weed

and greek chocolate and smell it

from time to time as the train

chugs through eugene and vancouver

in the olympics i burn it down

in the rainforest until my fingers

are singed and the scent of

burning flesh and herb rises up

into the robin song branches all

wet with moss and childhood memories

when i'm done i pick up a sticker

with mushrooms on it in the gift shop

slip it under my sleeve and then i

walk away slowly . i stick it

on the cover of this notebook and on

the train ride back down i write this poem

— June 2021, Santa Cruz, CA