lives cut shorter and a swirling storm
and he'll ask why you're crying
you won't be consoled
just this morning you were spitting bile into the sink
trying to hold down a coffee
trying to hold onto your mind
no tears will be enough to fix this
gather limbs around, hang your head
in shame, in prayer, in quiet agony,
bury yourself in furniture
the pain of this will pass, with time
even though lies like that should scorch teeth
and you will die in debt to this sadness
think of boxes way up north,
the blank-staring mother, frightened at night-noises,
sister so capable, distant voice on the receiver,
all these little cubic lives
and when they finish pulling the bodies
from sacrosanct rubble
hope against hope you will find
a pair of tweezers fine enough to grasp
the cactus-spines that pierce you.
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