I. Mornings
I hear you,
a distant moan
dusting my ear.
I keep still—
head down,
eyes pressed shut.
My body burdened
knowing nothing keeps you
from me.
II. Afternoons
Your approach slams
the heaviest doors—
windowless rooms shiver.
Your spite funnels
a disquieting chill. Outside
the slow swath of the sickle.
III. Evenings
The ashen whisper of your voice,
the icy peeled finger pressed
against my lips.
Shhh...
a reminder.
A block of ice rests like a sleeping beast within my chest cavity, reeling. It froze over slowly and threatened to break under fingers that split me like ice skates. A thick knock against an iron gate
There is a theory from mankind that multiple universes exist; that with every thought we make, we create entire worlds; that we have lived every life in existence. Oh, what a comfort this is. To know
Every year we fly through the sky to Minneapolis, my parents and I. We watch the baggage claim belt spin round and round like the tire of an overturned tank. I wait for our black bag to win the wrestl
