Their song is sifted out
Golden flakes mixed with pyrite
How the baby died, how the food
For the first time in my thirty-nine,
I dialed and nobody answered, not
Sunday’s best looked untouched
As if saved for a day that
Never did come
It's 7:45 p.m. and break time, but there is no bell.
There is no manager or team leader or whistle to let us know.
There is only an analogue clock
Gravity pulled color from the Irises
into soil so heavy the garden became a pond of mud
where cardinals flailed their wings and died
When you never came
to collect me, I took a cab
to the art museum downtown.
Foolish heart-shiver woman,
As a middle name, it meant shelter.
Daddies knew that erecting it centered
anything in front or back against
the influence of northern wind
A flower bed graveyard for
larger than life
scattered with pecan shells and
family pets in shoeboxes
Pear trees lining
the street stand against
the February sky, reaching
You say you won’t miss him when he’s gone
and yet, you know it isn’t true.
When he leaves the day will sift through
your hands like only so much sand