Rough Cut of Snow

Force Majeure

Night and I open
in the milky dark, clotted
with stars. I refuse
to let die my parents, especially
both of them.
Winter unloading
the dishwasher without
going insane.
Downstairs the dryer
rattling a shark tooth
in a coat pocket.
I have wasted your childhood,
photographed you too much.
Above the kitchen
sink, fluorescent snow
makes the cold bearable.
I frost two layers of yellow
cake, lick the whisk absently.
You assure me you will find
me in the next life,
and the one after, that no other
mother will do.
Bored, I gave birth out of my birth
canal like it was nothing.
I can never leave you now.

People on couch
To continue reading please sign in.
Join for free