We used to make paper planes
as flimsy as our confidence.
Nothing ever flew the same,
smothered by the thawing sky.
We counted the seconds
until rain ate their bodies,
"5,6,7,8".
Too afraid to go outside,
mom and dad are gone.
Hovering hips beside
the holes in our walls.
Staring out the window
as foggy breath falls.
Seaweed salad and water
before we sleep.
Thinking about
if the paper graves
are as deep
as the cheap cliches
in our head.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
We used to make paper planes
as flimsy as our confidence.
Nothing ever flew the same,
smothered by the thawing sky.
We counted the seconds
until rain ate their bodies,
"5,6,7,8".
Too afraid to go outside,
mom and dad are gone.
Hovering hips beside
the holes in our walls.
Staring out the window
as foggy breath falls.
Seaweed salad and water
before we sleep.
Thinking about
if the paper graves
are as deep
as the cheap cliches
in our head.
Request permission to use this poem