My legs shake

afraid of the zesty child

chipping like the white paint

that cover the walls of the house

now inside a sinkhole.

We’ve tinkered with it enough

the cracks and tears have already won

devastation deserving of medals

as we reason with the loss of her

buried inside her folding carcass.

But some nights our hands

still cup the lonely silt remains

belonging to this deadbeat land

spoiling our feathered fingers

too afraid she’ll be forgotten.

I’m scared she’ll keep us down there

to linger without lungfuls of sunshine

peeping through cotton mountains

we can see with care

through sofas wedged together.

I can hear the gentle noises as swift

as the sound of breaking bones

through the ribs of floorboard

she’s too shy to show-

too shy to spill her grief.

2 thoughts on “GAME CHANGER

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