pitchers with large ears. Potatoes
with eyes poke through the grocery bag.
I tried to grow sideways,
listen around corners,
searching out the hidden things
we strained our lives through.
Magazines stashed high in the bathroom,
whiskey in the closet
the girl who stood in front of my brother
sitting on his bed his hands creeping
inside her shirt the door slightly
open as the rule stated.
A gel-filled membrane, a sleep mask numbed
in the refrigerator.
Waves of words breaking formation
during the fights overheard
as we sat atop the staircase, diffused
into panes of drywall.
We sprouted into soft weeds
cross-stitched into the backyard, ineradicable.