some people's families are
shaped like shining galaxies
like constellations linked arm in arm
like lush webs dripping dew
some are shaped
like knitted loops of wet wool
like slippery roller coaster tracks
some people's families slowly pulsate
creatures bumping in a tidal pool
but my family is shaped
like bark flaking off an old rotten tree
like leftover bits of stars on a cloudy night
like a raggedy sweater in the back of the drawer
an already tiny family
just dwindling down
to small faint
points
gone
when I think about the dwindling
I panic
I cling
I cry
my heart stops
shoots hot liquid fire
behind my eyes
breath catches in my chest
and I drop down to my knees
and pray
to god, the universe, mother, energy, light, nature
(whichever fucking term you stick on it)
and I beg for something better
to erase the pain and sadness
of our wasting lives
the sudden realization of ten to twelve
years of selfish waste and hurt
a ramming flood, overwhelming
years pressing their immense burden of time
on my mother's head, my father's hands
my heart all shriveled
like a goddamned piece of jerky
or a deflated balloon
or crusted over scab
with nothing left to give
but a pretend family of dogs and cats
it's time to grow a bigger family, brand new
like a starfish regenerating new limbs
it takes a lot of energy
when she's only just come to realize
she's only a lonely stump
stuck to the sandy floor
this gummy stump translates
pain into tissue
breathing underwater, slowly
soaking that old heart
plumping it with patience
trusting that current
