Sirens

Baby let me
rest my head
in that sacred
hollow of chest

that you call
an unfortunate flaw
of fetal development,
cursing your mother

for her original
sin against you
but that I
find most sweet

where cheek on
skin is a
kiss goodnight and
muscle barely muffles

the buh-bump of
birthed betrayal beating
a siren song
that all who

are different recognize

No place like home

She sleeps in my bed
missing her own
but glad for the warmth

of my Egyptian cotton sheets
and the neutral
Target comforter set I shared

with the ex-boyfriend who left
me to play
house with a neighbor lady.

She thanks me for my
generosity, not knowing
I would burn that bed

and flee this tortured place,
run from this
incestuous den of communal pain

and the home built together, 
where any memories
of warmth have long died.

---

November PAD Day 27 - local

waiting

My eyes cannot 

stay open tonight. For weeks

I have longed

to pull back 

the thin sheet that separates

me from anxious

dreams; the kind 

where I'm waiting tables in some

vaguely familiar place 

and people are 

waiting for me to take 

their dinner orders.

The guilty panic 

starts setting in just as

I remember that

I haven't worked

at a restaurant for years.

Still, I feel 

them waiting for

me, just as I wait 

ever more impatient 

for just one restful night.

Poetic Bloomings #65 - Betrayal