04-25-2018, 09:30 AM
But soft, what light?
My hands sit on top of your shoulders like two dead parrots.
I smell the lotion you use to soothe rough skin,
bought at the grocery store, unmedicated.
When the photographer finishes, my smile is real
until the quiet drive home, night sky
a sealed black eye, the stars
lies my father told me, so I would go to sleep.
Later, I'll sneak out, afraid to look up,
my feet moving along a memorized route
towards a light she left on just for me.
My hands sit on top of your shoulders like two dead parrots.
I smell the lotion you use to soothe rough skin,
bought at the grocery store, unmedicated.
When the photographer finishes, my smile is real
until the quiet drive home, night sky
a sealed black eye, the stars
lies my father told me, so I would go to sleep.
Later, I'll sneak out, afraid to look up,
my feet moving along a memorized route
towards a light she left on just for me.
Time is the best editor.