there are nights
when i am hollow
a drum that does not make music
death only gets nearer
and there are 247 imaginary worlds
that i would like to sink into
the moon used to hang in the sky
from a string
it winked at me on nights
when i waited for my mom
to come home
i cried when she was late
because i loved her
and was just beginning to understand
impermanence
saturday mornings had a feeling
turtlenecks and a dollhouse
that i gave away to the neighbors
i remember
watching my brother get on the
school bus
how it drove away and just kept driving
down a road that twisted and coiled
like a snake
the bus was a dot and then nothing
and i wondered how big the world was
if my brother could just disappear
into it
at 10:38 at night
when i was six
i left my dark bedroom
and found my parents downstairs
on the couch
i wondered how the world
was still awake
after i had been in bed for hours
and i realized
that everything kept going
when i was not there
that night
my dad told me to take deep breaths
and my mom sang a soft lullaby
as she stroked my hair
it is easy to fall asleep
when darkness is not complete
and the only thing to think about
is breakfast
