At thirteen,
my sibling, my supposed partner,
in our disheveled family life
taught me a different kind of warmth
that comes from talking back.
My ebullition
was matched
with a violence that erupted
like a passionate applause
for a trombone feature at the end
of Mahler’s third symphony.
Only this applause
ended with
a cold hand outstretched
latching, to my wrist
as the other
bare palm swung,
into the lobe of my left ear
leaving behind
a warm, feverish
crimson glow.
I tend to draw my experience from ones that are a bit personal, it's cathartic for me.
