What would be accomplished

throwing a word–or three–

into this vat of

Uncertainty?

--
c

465

I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—

The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—

I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—

With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—

we whispered missing years
fluttered legs over a withering porch bench

she mixed my hair with white fingertips
to keep the itchy thoughts away

the walls of my grandparents’ house held me close,
my surrogate womb

we shared more than blood and color as
time licked her blonde with
heavy waves of fruit and nicotine and
I didn’t mind

she sung sticky secrets to me:
nights she dreamed on the streets when
rent was too high and
dads that come like rain:
big and loud all at once,
then gone

fingertips padded quiet paths along budding curls while
“mom” sat sweet and safe against my tongue

--
c