124 Readings | 1 Rating

Mapping

He and I mapped our failings, fingers tracing
where we threw our belongings
off the balcony. There’s the spot

I cried along the highway. Show me the place
I can share his grief. The air was stiff

with summer, our fights stealing
breath from open windows.
Fireflies floated in the woods, gasping for light.

Today, I yelled at my mother,
my open hands smacking the house.

The furniture wears as we’ve forgotten how
to live together. I don’t know how to say
this isn’t home anymore, so I hold her waist,

do the dishes without her asking. On our porch,
the wren sings and bends twigs into a nest.
Posted 02/03/13
This poem originally appeared in Rabbit Catastrophe Review Issue 5.
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