Tagged: 49

on the thirteenth week,

on the thirteenth week,
the ninety-first day,
the dragonfly that stayed
for a quarter of an hour, dazzling
the children, resting on Father’s
arm, dancing into his
palm, waiting for Mother’s
gaze, was you, returned to
us but for a moment, lest
we forget to value each
other, impermanent
as morning’s dew

in the shower this morning, i

in the shower this morning, i
concocted a mastermind
plan to fasten the ends of these tear
ducts to a Rube Goldberg machine.
at this point, it is certain to be
the most direct way to intervene
the next time they have
the vaguest inclination to shed.
if it takes at least forty-nine
independent steps to get there,
there might be just enough time for
prevention — between the triggered
sorrow weighing down my
heart, to the released
sand tilting the cold, metallic
scale, i may have set
enough of an elaborate trap
to lock myself out of myself