sitting in the yellow kitchen,
with blue daisy wallpaper
and noodles stuck on the roof
from the days when we could
smile at mistakes,
I hear the cries of a
tattered soul
and a man who is
too lost to understand
a symphony of noises
begins to play all at once:
cries and
screams and
doors slamming and
glass breaking and
sirens off in the distance
she grabs me and holds me tight;
bear and cub
deer and fawn
dog and pup
mother and child
and we run outside
into the old volkswagen,
grey and rusty
with dents on the passenger door
from the days when we could
laugh at mistakes
we begin to drive down
the street and he’s yelling something:
come back
and
he’s my son
and-
he jumps on the car and
continues to yell,
but his words get cut off by
sirens, and soon he’s being
shoved into a car by men in clothes
as black as night
with silver guns that glisten like
stars
and I look out the
back window
long enough to see the tears of
someone who has lost
everything.
we’re driving nowhere
somewhere
anywhere
but home.
with blue daisy wallpaper
and noodles stuck on the roof
from the days when we could
smile at mistakes,
I hear the cries of a
tattered soul
and a man who is
too lost to understand
a symphony of noises
begins to play all at once:
cries and
screams and
doors slamming and
glass breaking and
sirens off in the distance
she grabs me and holds me tight;
bear and cub
deer and fawn
dog and pup
mother and child
and we run outside
into the old volkswagen,
grey and rusty
with dents on the passenger door
from the days when we could
laugh at mistakes
we begin to drive down
the street and he’s yelling something:
come back
and
he’s my son
and-
he jumps on the car and
continues to yell,
but his words get cut off by
sirens, and soon he’s being
shoved into a car by men in clothes
as black as night
with silver guns that glisten like
stars
and I look out the
back window
long enough to see the tears of
someone who has lost
everything.
we’re driving nowhere
somewhere
anywhere
but home.
