As soon as I heard the rumble of my husbands car
fade into the distance,
I put down my Bible, stepping out of bed.
I smoothed out the covers, like always.
because I'm not one to leaves things messy
because cleanliness is close to Godliness,
that’s what they say.

I fiddled with the faucet
testing the water on my hands.
The kids don’t like it too warm.
I left the door open
so I could hear the faucet running
all the way down the hall.

I opened the bedroom door
and squinted as I flicked a switch.
Let there be light!
Three sleepy faces peeked out at me
from underneath their blankets.
Such precious eyes looked up at me.
Poor things,
Daddy had just put them to bed.
They yawned and blinked their shiny eyes
and we all held hands as we walked down the hall.

They told me
Mommy, Mommy, it’s not bathtime.

I answered,
No, it’s not bathtime, it’s time to go.

They asked and asked,
but I just smiled down at them.
What curious little miracles!

The boys went first.
I placed one hand on each of their heads,
my fingers in cornsilk hair.
Their confused wailing
bounced off of the tile walls.
I silenced them with shushing sounds.

I told them don’t be afraid.
Don’t be afraid, Mommy’s got you.
Mommy won’t let go.
Mommy won’t ever let go.

I smiled at their tiny, twitching hands
and laughed along with their gurgling voices.

I wish they wouldn’t have splashed so much.
That’s just like the boys;
they were always making trouble.
How inconsiderate of them
to leave less water for their sister!

I laid the boys down to rest
and gave each one a kiss
on their clammy foreheads.
They were side by side on Earth,
now side by side in Heaven.
I lined them up next to each other
Like sweet little packages.
Little packages sent up to God.

I left my princess to float.
She just looked so pretty I couldn’t move her.
I could see her so clearly
once the splashing had stopped
and the water settled.
She was so beautiful
with her hair swaying
just beneath the surface.
My perfect angel.
I left her to float
like Moses on the River Jordan.

With my little cherubs put to rest,
I return now to my Bible,
but this time it’s not for reading.  
I place it in the oven
and lay my head on it
like a tiny sacred pillow.
So that I can rest too.

and I'm not afraid
because it's time to go.

Go walk the streets of dust city remains
where fragments of your rubble houses linger.
Feel the bleach injected in your veins
as you press the jutting steal against your fingers.

A glittering tornado tears aged bricks away
and new pristine white walls strike you down blind.
Where wooden skeletons of homes gave way,
now empty windows flash down the street side.

When your lungs are poisoned by the disinfectant breeze
and you kneel down to cough on grimy cracked concrete,
when the toxins take you and hands start to seize
lay your worn head down and feel your city’s fading heartbeat.

What kind of people spit on the condemned
and cover up the suffering with phony plastic gems?

I orbit around the
star of your eyes.
Spinning in circles
through black stellar skies.

Your cosmic pull
is a binding so tight that
I revolve
despite your blinding light.

You scar me
with solar flares and burns,
and all I can do
is turn
and turn
and turn.

But better to burn
than to be alone
for my body would turn
to ice on it's own.

Gravitational attraction
holds me in your clutch.
Though I'm always beside you,
we'll never touch,

but if you should ever
fall from the sky,
as you go down
so shall I.

I am a jar of lazy waltzing fireflies.
Tiny sparks drift
round about my insides.
Splintering lines wink
as glowing bugs dance in my frame.
Cracks run through me
like black crystal veins.

My glass chest is overcome
with a crawling web of fractures.
I screech
with the strain to hold together.

AND I SHATTER

Shards of me fall with a twinkling sigh
and in the air
a humming yellow fire swells.
Those who glowed within me dissipate,
lazily waltzing away
from a broken empty shell.

At the sound of the bell
rush the lunchroom
where melting hot cookies
make a sweet perfume.
Some kids have brown bags
names scribbled in pen,
while other kids have nobody
to pack bags for them.

Those are the kids
sitting on the lawn.
Smoke stuck in their shirts
from cigarette smoking moms.
They have ***** hands,
purple under eyes,
holes in their shirts,
and shoes untied.
They are kids
that don’t have names.
So easily forgotten
and forgotten again.

I’m among them,
the lonely, lunch-less, wild,
torn clothes and tangled hair.
“Problem child!”

Then there are glass eyed kids
ritzy and rotten
with button up shirts
of egyptian cotton.
They garble their candy
they snicker and crunch,
while us kids on the grass
watch their giant mouths munch.

I am used to what happens
every September.
It’s my birthday
my parents never remember.
but my friends present me
a candle to light
and I make a wish
they hold my hands tight.

*I wish
that we could all look out
for one another.
I wish
that we could be
each others
sisters and brothers.
I wish
that we could not be alone
and live together.
I wish
that we could make
our own family
that lasts
Forever.