Saturday, January 12, 2019

Story Dark

Moment when the tongue falls
word by word
is not a poem
a poem is not a child

my child plays 
with the animal figurines
standing the real
against the imaginary

the word
parts and folds 
talks the truth 
about the body

my child cries at bedtime
he asks are you real
I trace his name on his back
with my fingertips

the word
will be a mouth
the true body
at the skin’s edge

we read the one
about the children
who climb down the iron ladder
and hide under the ground

where the words stop
where the rocks open 
and go in the dark
it flows blood

we close the blinds
the dark is outside,
the mountain, the river, 
we bring darkness inside

blood, sky, sun, blood, blood
at the beginning of the story
your name
your own name

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