![]() ![]() ![]() Moths, night fliers, hurl against the window, jealous relatives come snooping. We watch him sleep when we can’t, wishing we could see our colors against his in the mirror. Here we swallow his compliment, swallow his jokes his semen his bland food. ![]() Back home we know the moon’s pocked, riddled, hideous with mortar blows. Eighteen? Twenty? Cracking himself up: Thirty? None of you know how to count the tree rings that circle our knuckles. Now we find consolation in our lover’s eyes. You heard us howl then even we can’t recover what’s lost through so many leagues of water. Here we’re outrunning old fears, running naked through our ocean and calling your gulls. Protection, father said, yoking stones around our necks. He has fair hair, eyes the color of the jade our father gave us when we were born. We’ll wear your fog like the veils we never had. You thought we didn’t hear the buzz of your talk. Narrow, between ocean and crooked tree, garlanded by fog. We saw you laugh behind your hands when you sold us the house. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |