the concrete on the corner of Willow and Main St.
will remember your face better than i ever could
it left impressions in your cheeks looking like
a blush run through a sieve
it will remember the skin on your knees
and how easily it tore when you fell
it will keep these pieces of you between it's teeth
until the city scrapes enough money together
to pave over your mistakes
again.

your mother gave up on you
after you stole her mother's silverware
sold the knives and forks but
boiled down the spoons
opened a new vein every day
like a bruised sunrise
like a bird lifting it's wings
broke the dam
and used the needle
to push a river into your heart.

God closed the door so you opened a window
and jumped out
let the pavement cradle you
better than i ever could.