i am my own oneirocritic
sleepless now,
after being sleepless,
for so so long.
the hunger for the heart to slow
to a gentle pace -
like those that i love,
so terribly.
i’m sorry grandma,
about your spine,
and the stairs you only just built,
inside a generational space.
a walking-frame that doesn’t fit
through any hallway.

this is a poem
that I know I can never finish.

but it felt good.
the open front door,
the peeled varnish,
upon frail wood
- swollen,
to gradually bend off
two rusted hinges.

it served only as a written invitation
for all critters and
unpleasantries
once shut out
to linger in the cold.

i stacked my things
in cracked boxes,
upon cracked shelves.
ancient coffee rings printed
from the base of ***** mugs,
like half-moons,
on the lips of wooden panels
drenched in whitewash.

a bare face bathed
chin up, clenched eyelids
in the light of a sky outside.
a hollow echo,
the dripping of water
inside this vacant cave.
the china cup is half full.

a single pull, transitional.
the separation of two stars.

the youngest sibling locks herself in the bathroom,
peering into the mirror,
she observes the soft face before her
- it is freckled, a round nose.

she removes the stained article of clothing,
inspecting her curves for evolving figures,
life fast-forward footage of a blossoming carnation.
her ******* are pale against a strand of light,
reflecting upon her hips from the silver bath head.

her father knocks on the door.
"i'm fine!" she cries.
as she stood over the running bath, it glided down her thigh,
like watered down paint, evolving across the canvas.

i remember you when things were better.
the numb sting of winter
wind, his open window and the way
the warmth of his eyes melted
my coldness.

the rain came, but
i didn't mind.
we had an hour left together
before the city lights swallowed
you
and all the constellations.
in a moment,
the noir sky turned grey
and then we were home.

somehow we're the same, with
that outer glow that's
seemingly warm -
but
the inside is cool, and
hollow.

i think of you fondly,
every day.