I carry my heart on the pelt of a rabid coyote
winter impelled and needless pacing
it runs away from me faster than it knows
premature blooms hold me by the wrists
they tear me open with their lonely beauty
don’t go as pleaded by roses
it was a climb into an abandoned house
wind howling through years of dust
together we mourn their soft petals
ignore how each step may be a great collapse
I look for you in every empty room
your rhythmic breathing is the slow drum
I rip apart the static like a seam
the same way the coyote bares its teeth
maybe the agony of its foaming mouth is a dream
maybe my bed is a pool I drown in each night
I surface each morning shivering
I never forget the snow or ice
driving the shovel in with so much force my palms rip
blood or roses or blind white
flesh broken by new thorns
panting just the same
eyes just as wild
I watch as my father pulls out his shotgun
one bullet echoes in the field
a second that feels like years
my eyes burn with sorrow and I grip my chest
“It wasn’t its fault,” I whisper as though choking
“No,” he responds, “But now the misery is over.”