It is the ending that makes everything worthwhile. The yellow bamboo leaves spike, without question, less diligently. Cookbooks piled on the monitor-on-its-way- out by way of a trip to the basement are frisky. Dishes exonerate. She frequently looks up the difference between transitive and intransitive verbs. Metonyms have left her stranded. Un-called-for hyphens deserve different homes. Live a little

language. Adjective s heap themselves in succession in light of the coming holidays. In a community imagined in a yellow evening you leave without question to go to work. The writer has no need to ask what makes her so. Relieved of reoccurring migraines, she has only the traces such as vomiting. Intentions do not pile,

but spread. Stave off less compelling ones. She will consider what she can throw away, and what she cannot buy. Logic is another foe. And in the end we all cheer for the woman that burns down the town. No one would be prepared. Sugar tells stories when no one's looking. The neighbor walks the neighbor's dog.