torch

in that moment before the last one, right
there, three a.m. with the machines
all turned off and the hallways echoing with the
footsteps of dying women, women with the
heads of dogs, of birds, of minotaurs, and i
turned to you and asked is he dead? and i turned
to you and asked are we there yet? and
you smiled, you were crying, were pulling tiny
crosses from your hair, the bones of minor
gods, had the gun aimed towards the sky,
warm sunlight like the sticky hands of priests
down the lengths of our naked bodies, and
we were fucking when the woman was
discovered missing, you were bent over and
hanging onto the refrigerator and the baby
was crying, was saying something about
mommy, about the stains on the rug, nothing
that made any sense and the room stank of
bleach, and when you came it was like
the war was finally over


when the moment arrived, none of us
thought it would matter


we just stood there talking while
the north tower fell