the bank eats my home. has my mother’s credit for breakfast. a cracked egg in my chest. an open castle. open casket.
i am my mother on the wall. a ghost as secret. a ghost as wish.
i reach. her waist a burning knob. the sun cuts loud against her dress. my nose bloody with pink snot.
i am 12 years old. a fetus aged enough to know sound. to know a house that doesn’t change is a dead house.
outside the wind is out of character. there is red like apple between my teeth. red like deer grazing rocks.
i am a grammar of bones. my blood runs wet. i am a handsome bleed. my nose a rain gutter.
this is my home. it is not an answer. i know what it costs. how we all need somewhere to leave.
i choose a forgetting that has a punch line. a forgetting that has a playlist. has a foul line. No. i choose a forgetting that forgetsforgiveness. Takes my money & vends nothing. if heaven a dollar. every shadow a cavity in light. a miracle in a wrinkled shirtlifting my wallet. & here my demons their demands. benefits & remote work. my mother has stopped working. bleeds money.& i rush my nose to her bleeding hands she wiping my face with her last dollar. our bodies share the gash. blood hiding in blood.
down the block a butterfly half cakedin concrete its open half flapsagainst the wind my mother’s carpassing us both i mask my hands with my handsimagine the insect in a world half freethe breeze split with wet rocki choose to grieve ten years laterthe sun dry snitching my shatteracross the lawn my body flattenedon the asphalt shadow bent upwardinto the branches of a birch’s canopythe birds disturbed by the wind I bringmy arms banking my nose wet with the water that comes the dried salt at my lips a ghost as home cooked meal the breeze a wiping hand at my eyes& look here wet cement to crawl througha road to comb my hair