Glossed
On a beach,
no one is ever close.
Mother enjoyed
father’s one face
so out of fear
father wanted
to change it.
If I can touch
the bottom
then I can go
further
I thought,
looking back.
Attic to Attic
Outside the jail, a mother wrapped in a Disney sweater
safe in motor heat has a hat from the football team.
It’s morning everywhere in the world.
—
In the backseat a toddler plays with her plastic fish.
The mother squeezes a pack of cigarettes,
her son’s favorite brand.
She releases her grip and wipes her eyes.
The toddler’s tiny bean-toes meet her mouth.
—
Everywhere in the world, it’s morning.
For revisiting where we’ve been, there is a cost.
In the old days, a sleeve of moss
had to die every summer.
Twyckenham Notes 