Published on: 7/13/2013
Hump in Our Bed
Between here and there,
your side and mine, is home
to a plateau between two valleys,
imprints in memory
foam near where our torsos
would meet. It looks as if we merged
at our lower halves, but left this space
between our bodies, the place
where they did not touch. We formed a heart,
two ventricles with a prolapsed center.
Published on: 7/8/2013
is the color I will always call your eyes. Lost
where we found you, you were searching
for a toy like the other kids had, tiny
plastic gem to put in pocket for later.
Stealing is such a harsh way to put it.
Claiming or saving better describes your intention.
No one else really cared what happened
to the emeralds when they left
the room, couldn't see the way light attached itself
to angles and prismed if you closed one eye.
Those were the days of chaos and dying
virtual pets. No matter what you did, the schedule
was off and that darned thing needed to eat
in the middle of the night, just when
you could not get to it in time.
Crying for you while you did
as you were told, stayed in bed.
Unless it grew and evolved, the little animal
inside the jar would not come out.
With the calm logic and paternal guidance
that were still intermittent that year, your
brother showed you that you only needed to break
the outside latch to retrieve the baby. Life
was simpler after that, even if it did not
make much more sense for awhile to come.