I drive through the dark how I did as a teen
gut dropping with the familiar twists in the streets
the cars here bear more bruises
halfway shining incandescent up the hills
i know how the road beneath me feels
how my screams sound filtered through these leaves
i know the shapes of the shadows, the patterns they weave
in flickers out the corner of my eye
i know how the static swallows you here
how the saltwater taunts you to breathe
until you find your life marked with a cross beneath a tree
the street lights are out over the bridge
nothing separates me from the water and the dark
all of us drown in our own ways
I held on to my mother tighter than I can remember
than she seemed to expect with a slight exhale
she was unusually silent as I spoke
A mind which relentlessly peels at the almond shells of problems
left still
listening
The silent care we share like our hair to let our presence speak
when all else fails to even seem like it might help
I sit in my car outside my family home
engine off, cold
my mother told me I shouldn’t come in
”he’s downstairs”
my dress I wear like a ray of sun
threatens to beckon the knife blade
she comes back out holding my viola
a layer of dust, bowhairs frayed
a string slipped off the bridge
i take it in my hands as I shiver
I hold just a piece of all that’s decayed