God Bless You Be Happy

It is the hour before 

the world rises. 

No brindled light 

through the slat blinds,

no nervous energy 

like suppressed laughter.

My wife 

stirs in her sleep, 

her hair like a lasso

on the pillow,

a slight quiver 

to her lips.

The dog sits proudly 

in the middle 

of the rug 

like what the fuck 

I need to pee. 

I put on clothes, 

an old soccer sweatshirt, 

legs so tight 

I can barely bend down 

to tie my shoes, 

almost falling over 

pulling up my pants. 

How did this happen? 

It’s perfectly LA today.

The scientologist

with hair like corn husks,

who we believe has turned 

her husband into 

a small white chihuahua, 

is out walking him 

this morning. Fallen

olives from a neighbor’s

tree litter the street 

with ovular black eyes.

Someone has left 

another loaf of bread 

to compost on the sidewalk.

From around the corner 

the woman appears

this morning as she does

each morning,

in her red plaid jacket

so like the field jacket 

my mother used to wear, 

copper stud buttons 

and a crease to the collar, 

hair in a bun at the back 

of her head, 

yelling without pause 

or hesitation

GOD BLESS YOU

BE HAPPY 

with her face pointed 

at my face,

the words not stopping, 

the words like scarves 

pulled from the mouth

of a magician. Bent 

forward, she gestures 

towards me 

in short furious circles.

Dead fronds like fish ribs 

on the sidewalk. She 

laughs once, then makes 

a small wind like air 

let out of a tire 

as she passes. 

Trying to tell my wife 

this later, in bed, 

her eyes fixed intently 

on my face. Her eyes, 

which are two different

colors, the left one green 

like moss growing back 

on the blue of a stone. 

I forget what I’m saying. 

It’s okay she says, 

and leaves her hand 

on my chest. Start again,

from the beginning.

---

JAMES CIANO holds an MFA from New York University. His debut collection The Committee of Men, is forthcoming from BOA Editions in 2026. Recent poems have appeared in Poetry Northwest, Bennington Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, and Bat City Review. His reviews and writings on poetry have appeared in The Adroit Journal, Poetry Northwest, and Los Angeles Review of Books. Originally from New York, he lives in Los Angeles, California where he is currently a Provost Fellow at the University of Southern California, pursuing a PhD in Creative Writing and Literature.

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