Domestic Disturbance

by shira

Turn the lights out and
We’ll leave your house
On its street
With crumbling rocks
Of cinder and ash and pine needles
Take the sap from a spear and stick it to a shingle
We climbed the roof when your parents were gone

I’m writing poems
When you’re taking punches
At last weeks leftovers
I burned in the oven

You’ll raise the children
I’ll write some more words
About the golden hair they could have had

I didn’t think they’d turn out so dark
Who knew they’d make me lighter
Out of my body
Into my arms

I have no children
We have no union
Only under a roof
We stood on as kids