i am learning to speak
in a language that doesn't hurt.
the kitchen light is a yellow bruise
on the linoleum,
and i am standing in the steam
of a kettle that forgot to whistle.
we are just
bodies of water
trying not to spill
into the wrong hands.
my mother’s shadow
is a coat i wear
when the house gets too quiet.
i am looking for the exit
in the middle of your sentence,
not because i want to leave,
but because i’ve never known
how to stay
without becoming a ghost.
the moon is just a hole
in the ceiling of the world.
and we are briefly gorgeous,
not because we are whole,
but because we are finally
breaking in the right direction.