We lie in bed with our arms around ourselves,
cradling the mangled bodies of children
who had the stars squeezed out of their eyes so that, still shining, they fell
down our faces and got stuck there in the shapes
of tears and little hairs and pimples.
For a while,
if we shut our eyes tight, our bodies aren't so stretched
and overgrown,
and there's a little more time to play before sunset.
Old shadows break in the brand new walls
The dirt projected by the naked winter giants of trees
Stains bare wooden flesh with familiar rusty bandages
Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
Midwestern night.
There’s something out in the fields,
Something banging on the roof.
Fresh vomit in the toilet.
The sink is running, so you can’t
Hear your own heavy breathing.
Comments
This is beautiful.
I love this.
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