in and out of the bones
the first winter hurts like arroyos
in the sour, sunless brain
the first winter flakes the elbows
like tobacco
the first winter dries the phlegm
on the back of the tongue
the first winter teaches girls
to feed themselves to the wolves
the first winter is Ganesh
ramming his tusks at the radio
the first winter is a fiction of green
threads knotted into mercy
the first winter thinks of meth & diapers
arms in the damp wood
the first winter is a stopped clock
my father’s wheelchair
rolling to the edge of the roof
my wind emptied of flags.
Weeds, like disbelief
sprout through car windows
by the train tracks.
O, ice
bestial heart
holding back the panic & confetti
though sometimes I light small fires
watch smoke tunnel through
the broken roofs like angels
you are the lone survivor
mirrors in the train’s path
the only ceasefire
I know.
Leave a Reply