your mother told you
that the clouds were milk
& you could drink them
through song.
when she died,
they pierced your lips
& padlocked them shut.
they said your heart
was a jukebox.
that music’s not allowed
in a town like this.
even so,
the girls swung their hips
to the sound of the keys
that shut you up.
they raised their arms,
collapsed onto couches
& let your music
slip those sweaters
right over their cheeks
& their hot-roller curls.
bobby pins clattered
to the floor.
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