I left you at the
threshold of your room
with the animal skin
drum of death rhythm
redemption coming close
underneath your window
painted iron bars
to keep bad men out
and keep you
from puddling out
of your body
and staining the
wicker and flower chairs
again
flaccid fingers
slip through mine
in these boiled food halls
of bone rot and skin folds
taste in my mouth
"Mom, I really do not know
if I can watch anyone else die.
I must go."
sixteen
a suitcase
the dry Faberge eggshell
of an airplane
I breath in collective air
clouds, steel
and hues of blue
my eyes
too dry and tired
for food in little packages
America,
a taxi to Brooklyn
fifty dollars
a fortune
friends
future
fingers bones and skin
and diet pills hidden
under my mattress
she flushes them
when I tell her
and I let her
I can always buy more
words curl on thermal fax paper
and wedge in my throat
'Sorry to inform you'
from Mom
on her letterhead
and a picture drawn in pen
"Grandpa died this morning"
I should have been there
tears
the deep
hot sound of
grief chuckling
her arms hold me
'I am so sorry,'
apple shampoo
baby powder
the taste of her lips
and utter confusion
There are too many kinds
of toothpaste
and cereal here
I have never had before
the taste of want
is honey nut cheerios
and milk drunk sweet
from the bottom
of the bowl
lips burn still
I rub them
with the back
of my thumb
but sharpie heart
pictures drawn tenderly
on an arm
do not fade easily
'out damn spot!'
says Lady Macbeth
to her blood ghost stain
as I touch my lips
