wraps
the baby in plastic
then forgets
about it
ten
years, twenty, and when
cobain
finally pulls the trigger
the
sound is no more than the
sound
of a small bird singing
weep
while you put the
pieces
back together
breathe
in clean light
and dust
breathe
out
remind
yourself that
wherever
you are
is the
desert
bathe
in waves of sorrow
hum of
bees or the
moans
of priests
three
devils in the room at the
end of
the hall, and not a
sound
from any of them
this is
how all wars start
a crack
in the ceiling
cancer caught
too late
you
make up with your father
after
15 years of bitter silence
and
then 3 months later
he’s
dead
your
husband no longer
sleeps
in the same
bed as
you
your
wings are ragged
all
angels
consumed
by fire
No comments:
Post a Comment