We were perched up near the ceiling
on top of the big bad 'do not touch',
her daddy's ebony liquor cabinet,
perched like two little birds on a wire,
wanting to take our chances and fly.
Her mom was banging away upstairs;
her daddy was gone to the corner store,
back to Mars, back to the sweaty arms
of "the other one", but he'd be back,
one day, she said, he'd see the marks
our damning hand prints in the dust
so thick it was a cloth of dead skin,
filth that polluted her many cat-lives--
the ones unspent up until that point.
He'd be mad,
but she didn't care--
so I didn't care.
Birds on a wire
that's all we were
sitting on a shelf
together in a pair.
Her mom ran a bath after another
marathon day of beds, empty bottles
and strangers, one after another
thick smoke drifting downstairs
like the odor of a burning skunk,
we hear water splash, mean laughs,
some crying, the banging of the walls.
"Don't make me come down stairs,"
her mom yelled when we would be loud
or maybe too quiet, but she never did.
We sat up there, higher than hell
and she quietly stared holes through
the yellow ceiling, cobwebs waving
like a black flag of pirates and children,
living doom in the living room
out there, just beyond the horizon.
She told me she didn't care
that she didn't care--not one thought,
not one worry.
And I believed her then.
But now I think she did.
were we on that locked-up cabinet
wondering the if's, the how's and why's
of small grounded things yearning to fly.
Top: Some beautiful symbolism. I know who would love that. Bottom: The Moon and Venus, both in final crescent, almost at the point of eclipse. And in broad daylight, no less. Again, there's some gorgeous symbolism here.