it is the way you were raised
June 15, 2009 § Leave a comment
the place my father became him and where he
if going back had a sound,
it would be hollow.
and twisted, the way you distort your face in direct light.
the sound is hollow like your
name and the house that is no longer yours.
you went out like the things you swept out of the hallway along the floorboards.
“give me a way in,” i remember him saying as he pressed his nose against the window.
and then his hot breath dissolved every image beyond the pane.