Her words s e e t h e through wet-tissue
walls
filling our ears until they spill over our lobes, dripping down our faces until
we can see them:
If you can’t afford your children, send them away.
Send them away. Then the curdled thoughts fold
into the deep
creases of the brain.
Send them away like warts and tumors and cysts.
Send them away!
Then I hear you glide down the hall, pausing before each creaking board.
You s l i d e beneath the sheet and whisper
I didn’t want to be alone.
On a sweaty mattress we huddle, pressing knees to backs, bodies to the
heat of solidarity
and we think
of summers without backyard Kool-Aid and runs in the sprinkler
of winters without the rigid splints of layered clothing
We’ll leave in the summer
When the leaves wink at the sun and the clouds move slowly,
we’ll follow them.
And the memories of outdoor picnics with the house and dog and tire swing,
we’ll send them away.
