I have no more stories to tell,
they all end with bruised knees and
broken teeth. The sky is always dark now
and it takes everything from me.
The sweat on his lip is sweet, like beer
and my heart is heavy but not whole.
He ashes on the bar and looks
at me sideways. I feel the bass in my chair.
I wait patiently for morning,
when he remembers nothing.
A bottle of Jack
shakes this entire house
and I wonder if my heart could
swell so much and my flesh
burn so hot, maybe he would begin
to look like heaven. Suppose the bravado
in his voice is a confession
of something he is missing -
Every night, the darkness begins
to feel a little bit more like light.
No tigers live in this home anymore -
I look for them in the closet,
under the bed,
in the bath.
The ferns do not grow and there is a
stillness I have never known.