Wasn't he supposed to be your father too?
You were supposed to have given birth to his first grand-child
Wasn't his head round like your own father?
Gemini father purple eyes like me
Had eyes that thought deeply like him?
Ate steak, but drank whiskey.
You fantasized about your child bouncing on his knee.
In fall time. Death is like raising your fingers to the wind of the spin of the earth going around the sun.Death is grimy turning to brown everything. Brown is fertility. Is movement that occurs under neath our feet and at night creeping in between the shards of cold air. Hair upon the steamy window grasping fingers. They get old and fall apart like the car I'm not sure I can risk to take along for the ride. the car. My body. My hair on the window when it gets long in fast-forward to the future summer steamy in strings. wet branches. tangly neurons.
When the crumbling of my first family started, it started Last Fall. Death after death. Old men and new babies.
slush slush slush
wet leaves under my feet
wet everything
air ocean
slush slush
driving to come up for air by increasing the speed
hoping to pummel the water, the night, the unknown night that hugs us like a
wet blanket
slush slush slush
brain slush slush. slush.
under my feet
so I'll run
so fast
I'll find him
again, above
and we will remember
that we were once a family.
because a sunflower grows taller
can hold hands
or drop seeds for when winter passes
we can try again.
after all that dies
gets reborn
a single finger to my womb
my belly button
dear one
see you soon.
sorry bunny
