From Baalim Yalson…to Tippy Cat…I know where and what this piece means! GOOD JOB!
I urged you.
behemoth hands to your frame,
small and full of bugs.
They were a test to us.
Everyday intelligent bacteria
reign over the ending–
yet create lovely spindles of joy,
flowers in the garden and the grass you eat.
I worried you would die
and that our long trips up the
mountains would never see us through.
We can head over the Catskills
and try to drag the demons
out of your most prominent ribs
but the journey won’t end there.
You can’t speak to me–
I can’t speak to you.
I just cry out when you’re missing,
what if you did lurk down the foxglen streets instead of
hiding under torn mattresses?
No, you woke alone, trying to tell me the ending drew near.
I couldn’t hear you over the tires
on the highway and the rattle of
You survived off dog food…
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