When I wake up
the house is singing an aria.
The heirloom waterstains bloom
with each crescendo.
At the closing of a door,
my families roots are pushing
through floorboards. Marshlands
fill the empty highway.
You stand in corners, faceless girl
on your arm. Your name rolls around
her mouth like a cat's eye.
My friends are on the roof,
sipping champagne from open palms.
In the earthquake
I only can save myself.
I look for safety
in a school desk.
Then the world is rivers
of orange-creamicle fabric,
prayer mandalas turning
in song, in song, in song.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
When I wake up
the house is singing an aria.
The heirloom waterstains bloom
with each crescendo.
At the closing of a door,
my families roots are pushing
through floorboards. Marshlands
fill the empty highway.
You stand in corners, faceless girl
on your arm. Your name rolls around
her mouth like a cat's eye.
My friends are on the roof,
sipping champagne from open palms.
In the earthquake
I only can save myself.
I look for safety
in a school desk.
Then the world is rivers
of orange-creamicle fabric,
prayer mandalas turning
in song, in song, in song.
