And in the end, I fear I will be nothing more than a name.

i am seven and in your living room
with antiques & photographs
of family that are more like strangers
and handshakes at christmas
there is a jar of circus peanuts by the armchair
and i remember being told that these are here because they are never out of stock
and that they are the only things
children will not want to take from me
i still do not like the color orange.
i am eight and round the bannister
to an upstairs that reminds me
of heaven in that
place i can't go sort of way & i am
knuckle deep in your pumpkin pie
wiping it on my uncles suede jacket
our hands still shake but the jury is still out
on if he looks at me and napkins the same
i hope you do not sleep
with my apologies under your fingernails
i will not say them out loud
i know i should have mowed your lawn
i should have been a home
for second hand smoke
if i could go back i would be your ashtray
i remember the day you forgot who i was
i bound into the room and throw my arms
around you like an armistice
and you ask who i am
we are not in church
but everyone stops singing
i am passed from child to child
while we all laugh
but my lungs feel like
they've been mugged in an ally
who's son does he look like, mom?
my father says like gospel
you pull on your cigarette
sip from your watered down wine and shrug
and i am neck deep in forgetfulness
i imagine alzheimer's
as being born again every day
so, we will spend ages
looking at captions to photographs
telling your stories to strangers
as my father begins to forget
and when i imagine probate
an unfamiliar hand unfolding a will
to be read to wayward angels
i want to burn down the house
and sleep in the ashes

I’ve been on this train for God knows how long
And the river beside us never seems to end
The sky has been bruised for the last seventeen hours
Honestly I don’t know what to make of it anymore
Smoke hangs in each of our lungs
The windows are all locked
They offer no relief
All I can do anymore is sleep and dream
To me that is enough because I see her there
She wears a little white dress that stops just above her knees
Dancing ankle deep in a lake I’ve never been to
A tiara made from white roses sits delicately on her head
The contrast of the flowers and her soft red hair is striking
She smiles and holds her hand out to me
I want to go out to her
To take her in my arms and hold her
But I know I will stumble and wake again
As it has been every time before
For now seeing her has to be enough
*~W.C.

I spent the month of November living in the spine of a whale that washed up on shore
The only thing that kept me sane was the sound of the waves rolling across the beach
And only because it sounded like my fingers trailing across your bare skin or your lips against mine
I kept a fire burning just to stay warm
It laughed at me the whole time I sat across from it shivering
And it reminded me of how you would always laugh at me when I couldn’t keep myself from shaking
I hope your muscles are thinning out and the tremors haunt you now
There was an old lighthouse a few miles up the shore where I spent most of my time
I think the light at the top had a faulty connection somewhere
Because it flickered off and on at what seemed like irregular intervals
Truth is it reminded me of the way you used to smile at me
There must be a faulty connection somewhere among your synapses too
*~W.C.