The Marigold Sonnets

I.

Today I’ll listen to whatever music Spotify has in mind. by the Panty Sniffers? That algorithm knows me so well! I’ve pitched myself under this magnolia tree, heart first, before I get lobbed anyplace worse. No more of grandpa’s stuffed marlin glaring at me from the living-room wall, no more robocalls offering to restructure (for the moment.) I’ve retreated to the bosom of nature, where bird chirps whirr like sticks being fed into a wood chipper and magnolia leaves clatter into my lap like leather wings. Mari has flown off to Mexico. She believes in UFOs. She wants to be called Marigold now, to leave her sad past behind and bask in the mysteries of sex and drugs and panhandling and side hustles and