An entire structure collapsed
at the vibration
of his lips asking why
three times in a row.

Not much remained
of what had been
the most beautiful place
that I didn’t want to inhabit.

The expectations of a mother
covered by debris,
the pressure of peers
now pushing against blinding light.

“Oops,” he said.
“Never mind, I’ll build a new one.
Come over for tea
when it’s finished.” And I left.

“Excuse me,” I said. “You’re sitting
on my mother’s dreams.”
The kettle was trying to say something, too
bubbling away a silly attempt.

He said nothing,
just came closer,
where my worries
sang with the voice of silence.

2017-07-28T00:55:24+00:00 Categories: Poetry|Tags: , |