I’ll be over
By the window sill
Rocking the baby
To sleep
A fairy tale
Looks just like
A knife
When it’s
Cast in the right
Kind of light
Do you know
How we named
The baby?
We wrote letters
All over
The walls
Of the garden
And when the night broke
We watched
Where the lightning bugs landed
And put together
A sound
Over a name
To phrase
But not call
Not a title
A feeling
The baby likes feeling
Two stories up
Just my hands
Just my two hands
Holding her
Near the ledge
You worry about me
But I can hold her just as tight
Above a height
As you can
As you can
With those shaky hands
That smell of gin
And pocket nickels
By the window sill
The trees start small
And then go up
Branches crack their knuckles
While a wild dog runs
Through bark
When shall we let her
Out in the world?
On her 16 birthday?
On her 16 birthday?
Or before?
There are brambles
And thorns
And snatchers
Who take your screams
So that even your lost
Is lost
Inside a yellow flower
Maybe I should let her go now
Whenever you let someone
Into the world
You’re really just
You’re really just
Watching them fall
Hoping something breaks it
Hoping something won’t smash it to bits
The loss comes
Then the pause
Then the resentment
When God released me
From his grasp
The last thing I felt
Was his disappointment
In me
Why do we have to fall
When we’re told
We can fly?
I take a rock
I smash a pane
I take a rock
Another pane
To let the air
Come in
Again
There is no shortage
Of ways
Someone can be hurt
But who controls the hurt
The way you’re hurt
The way your damage arrives
Is it kinder to be
The one who brings about
The pain
Or wait and see
Which parts of the woods
Come to say ‘Hello’
Underneath
Underneath
The highest window
One day
You’ll hear this child cry
And when you do
Will you recall this time?
When something
Could have been done?
Could have been done?
And will you have sympathy?
Or something
Not so
Kind
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