twine

this family was knit with twine
laced with careful yet time-worn fingers
prepared as a duty
patterned by past confessions
the holes sewn feverishly
should we get lost in the storm
no one can say
we didn’t try our best
no one can say
our net wasn’t cast long or hard enough

we sit idly by in this ship
comparing ourselves to the others
as we go down without words
pretending, as a duty
that the twine was enough.

M.

St. Agony, 2014

There was a woman on the third floor
She sang ‘you are my sunshine’ repeatedly
What kind of trauma had she endured?
Me with my lack of tonsils
Choked by cigarette smoke and the smell of crab
God forbid you crack a window
The sheets stuck to my dry legs and I don’t know how that’s possible
yet I drank all the water
Washed down the pain
I thanked my lucky stars I had my mother
To soothe all my worries and darn me a lullaby with her knitting needles
One day I had a visitor
Who said she knew my aunts
She told me stories about the old days
All the while eating a cupcake with the wrapper still on
Ten days later
I couldn’t help but wonder
Whatever became of the maid
Pissing in the garbage can in the hall
and where her sunshine was.

M.