She tried to push love through
his skin, thin like an insomniac’s
two a.m., inject it into the tiny ridges
of wrinkles or will it through age
spots gathered like sad men in strip
clubs alone, breathe it into his mouth, save
him from death sleep, speaking
to bereft only he could
see, roll it like fog down his
thoroughbread thighs,
rinsing the rigidity from his
shins, injecting
opiates in his mortified
toes, but his body
always pushed it back
out, and no amount of her
cherishing
all
the
things
could stop the chill
that came
when her surrogate
heart stopped beating
for them
and he forgot
how to
love
at all.
Monthly Archives: August 2016
He Used to Ride Out and Dispossess His Tenants as the Spirit Moved Him
Not Just Romantic Separation, But Also the Death of Family Members
We survive the hours between waking
and sleeping, some stylishly, some with more
money, slinking between
problems beneath
speaking passionately, purposefully gesturing,
hand on forehead, publicly worried
about others’ safety.
Some with chests heavy, heaving
to overflow regret
or rage.
Some, without thinking,
smile at the day.
Hollywood
She tried to make herself
smaller or drown
in the words wafting
from his brother’s wounded,
gritty mouth like
a ton of wet milkweed
fluff dropped
on her chest –
the anvil weight
cartoonish.
His mother circled, a crow
full of poisoned rat – clawing,
clacking, waddling, preening in the dense
unkindness, kneading
her scar tissue
into shapeless, thorny
wads.
jenifer.wills 