as a kid
there's nothing
like wasting away inside a tiny
room
sitting on the backrest
of the couch
looking out the window
and seeing her
tread through the rain

a red umbrella covers
her.

Mother

she's going back
to the liquor store

One of the images
I’ve had in my head
Since I was a little kid
Still learning in school
Is the image of
Shakespeare Quarantined
In his house
Seeking asylum
From the Black Death
Writing and scribbling
Play after play
Sonnet after sonnet
Until his inkwell
Ran dry
And his doors
Opened to the outside.

remnants of a star
bits and pieces strewn about
death like a child’s playroom
littered without consequence
abandoned kaleidoscope
mirror fragments
blood splatter prism
heaven smeared like paint or jelly
the color violet for breakfast
bright red lip curled
crumbs of the bluest Indian summer
trapped in this grin of fire
pink gums and overturned snow globe
the body of confidence lost to the floorboards
glitter impossible to sweep up
even more disgusting to hold
shining universe adhered unwillingly
trapped between sticky fingers