I can hear
her laughter as I fall asleep
the three high gasps
the knees bent in agony
I see her
palm light up
– she
defines my vision of hands
as she
shies away the boldness of a man
– I could be your mother
and
everytime they make her curl
into bundles
bundles
bundles of
blank lives
– to go and
forget all the times
you weren’t
allowed
to even
decide –
she lets
her hair grow closer to her thighs
– just a
meter and a half
until they
meet for the first time
I see the
colour of her eyes
– why are
your irises
bruised
like that –
glow in the
dark when we pluck sleep
or flowers and chimes
off the
lawns
a gallery
of unlived tries
should have married
the blond one
with the car
until again
she shuts into the curved lines
of the
little child
beaten for the
nightlight in her lungs