Graceful is the way death floats down to earth
Like a feather, a bird
Placing its hand upon a young person's shoulder
It tugs on their clothes as a child would
And the young person kneels down
Grabs death's small arms with a smile
And they walk, hand in hand
To where? I don't know.

i can see the night on her skin
each freckle clustered
like constellations
scattered throughout her body
on the very dips of her hips
to the dimples on her back
a starry
starry night.

i stay in the past
out of hatred for the present
and fear of the future
inside my mother's cocoon
as my father works day to day
tirelessly, puffing smoke out of chapped lips
and the cigarette boxes pile the hallways
i live in a dream inside my head
where i paint my walls a different shade each day
and flowers bloom between the cold metal frame of my bed
the cracks in the ceiling
and the dusty gaps in my window
as if i had not heard my sister cry in the night
or nights
and my brother slams the door from outside
yes,
i'd rather stay in the past.