Work Text:
the world is quiet & i am slicing golden apples. the contents of an ender chest default to next of kin postmortem. i do not know how to spell my husband’s name. my son writes his ‘r’s backward & i do not have the heart to correct him. i do not have a heart behind my lungs. i think the drumming is the sound of war. i am always waiting because every little victory comes with backslide. this is a word my best friend taught me before he went away & i had to learn how to speak of him as a before with no after.
semicolon with no comma.
parentheses with no parenthetical.
the bathroom mirror is broken in five places. i wore two of his jumpers on top of each other last night. his cats knead the floors & cry. they don’t understand that their boy is not coming back. i am constantly in the process of understanding. every second is understanding. it gives an inch & folds like card stock. my son draws on the walls with stubs of melted gold. there are suns under the windows. there are crowns under the windows. a boy with eyes like stars. my son is an artist. my son can say ten words in common.
[ kaa ·fee, gowld , pleez , puh·pah, uh· way , gud , mor ·nuhng, af·tr· noon , luhv ,]
[ boo ]
his kitchen is filled with butter knives. i have never won with a sword in my hand. i have never won. my best friend brought me a burger & had to tear it into thirds with his hands. he looks at me & he is looking through me at the wall with suns. a wall of my son. i could make small talk & it would sound like do you know me anymore. do you see even a fraction of us as we were. when you brought hell you took me with you. do you regret you. will you regret me. he says
[how is life as a stay at home dad] so i say
[this is not a home & i do not stay]