angry

everything is hot and stuffy 
our glasses sweat, 
they create pools of condensed water 
the table sticks to my elbows from humidity 
its plastic is scratched from so many plates before

we bury the dead beneath the ground 

and look up towards the sky to reach them, 

and we dare say there is a distinction in direction 

you do not have to look 
at the moon 
to know she is full.

she is my sister, 
full 
more than full 
more than infinite 
more than 
the line between the rock and the sky