I’ve had a sick kid so I’ve been absent for awhile. Here’s a poem I worked on with Buddy a couple months ago, it’s changed shape since then.
Adults didn’t notice the half-inch
gap between my feet & the floor,
the clean soles of my shoes
as I walked or the dry burden
of catastrophe crushing the air.
It wasn’t a conscious choice
to unlatch, to hover just above.
I slipped out of rooms in silence,
I stared at books or out a window,
safe & quiet as a pinned moth—how
would I know to want anything else?
I don’t think my pain
is more important than it is. But
give me a time machine, I’ll peer
through a blur of red to find the egg
that becomes me, a soft jewel
inside my mother’s mother. I’ll set
it on a fingertip, wet & intact, raise
it up to the light, repeat You will
grow to be a wild thing until we both