long sweaters, color of grey clouds
wet wool beneath leggings and Docs
the way rain stayed in your hair and rinsed it of color
how you kept every love letter ever written
by all the little freckled girls who chased your dragon
we lay in your narrow bed
too small but small was what we were
breaking every splinter
in our roar and our mocking
you implanted a life
the telephone gave the news
my grandmother had given up pretending
perhaps the devil helped her
take that final breath
I couldn’t get a train
the rain the rain
you felt the despair of a boy who liked
the fur of drama
not the feel of fatherhood
her funeral was for two
the woman who had held me and said
what a pretty baby
when the rest backed away
like spectators unwilling to touch
and then there was the fetus
dry like a winter flower
red like a sore lover’s thighs
white like virgin snow covering
a crime
and the smell of damp
invading every corner of your room
ransacking hope
leaving in its wake
Smashing Pumpkins on low
sheets frayed and stained with youth
I did not return
you did not ask
it was accepted like an envelope is sealed
and black birds begin their fight
long after night has cast
her dark
TheFeatheredSleep 