February 17, 2013Auditing the Heart
One mother who owned
the sea, one father who walked
on water, and in a row boat,
one brother who believed
marriage meant becoming
the roof over a woman’s head.
A room for the night with a view
of the water, the moon a quarter
less than it should have been,
the shape of my wife drawn
into the empty bed one memory
at a time. There were too many
stars to count, a registry
of old gifts and receipts strewn
across the sky, a mess
of things that died getting here.
from #37 - Summer 2012