Don’t turn away.
We’ve looked so long
into that blank white eye
and there, you’ve seen
It – the willow, like whips,
the streetlamp like cones,
like black gnat ice cream,
If you can cup it in your palm,
would it be worth holding, no
we’d just lap on it so.
I was told that grannie sold
the children — could not hold them so.
I was told that three rivers bleed
in February, one for every father
that took axe to water and broke there.
I was told my mother died
on an ironing board, with the Levi’s
I was told my brother took my sister
to the river once, held her there,
head deep under water,
until she emerged — slurred — and
with much longer teeth.