Saturday, October 2, 2010

The Holy Guardian Angels

I remember you at birth

with a mouth full of cherries.

the cupboard doors swung open

to reveal teacups shaped like lungs.

there are ways to make this work, to sit here

and contemplate.

there was a wide blossom of blood

in the sink, a rattling rack of ribs

in the oven. there is a way to cook

and it is not the same as feeling.

regardless of compulsion,

I will not throw you out

with the bathwater.

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