A Lack of Space
Everyone’s far too close, and
I can feel my family’s gaze like
giants that leer down at me through
A picture pinned against a felt wall,
the once-stirred pages of a book, and
crumpled coke cans lying astray
Sitting thirty-seven floors above and
we all have the same definition of luxury.
Opal eyes peel from the night sky
to patter pitilessly down the sky-steps.
Splash in cold water, son.
Wear baggy t-shirts and shorts into the frigid
Atlantic Ocean, son.
Repeat my small, iridescent memories,
Play like a cool organ and
I will walk on water and string
myself up on a crucifix,
I’m busy always:
listening and gasping and “Oh yes I do know that.”
My eye-tooth cries and my
claustrophobia closes in like a glacier.
With torch in hand and strands of the band
slipping away I will break
through this ragged, wracked cage
and you will know they were Christians
by my love.