There's a catch in my breath like
the catch in your step from
the wound. "Where'd you get it?" I
asked you when I was five.
There's a hole in my chest like
the hole in your leg from
the wound. "It was a gift." I
didn't understand when you said it. I was five.
There's cold marble planted in the grass like
the countertops you bought from
Ikea. "Not really what it says on the box, is it?" you said. I
understand now. I was five,
but now at twenty I understand
the wound. And the box. And the gift.
The one I didn't appreciate nearly enough when I was five.
"Ain't it the way!" Your catchphrase, engraved. Delivered with a grin.
It would read so much better coming from your lips.
Those lips, on that contented smile, on that face,
in that box, now cold like that granite it's closed now within.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
There's a catch in my breath like
the catch in your step from
the wound. "Where'd you get it?" I
asked you when I was five.
There's a hole in my chest like
the hole in your leg from
the wound. "It was a gift." I
didn't understand when you said it. I was five.
There's cold marble planted in the grass like
the countertops you bought from
Ikea. "Not really what it says on the box, is it?" you said. I
understand now. I was five,
but now at twenty I understand
the wound. And the box. And the gift.
The one I didn't appreciate nearly enough when I was five.
"Ain't it the way!" Your catchphrase, engraved. Delivered with a grin.
It would read so much better coming from your lips.
Those lips, on that contented smile, on that face,
in that box, now cold like that granite it's closed now within.
