When a mother cries . . .
The weeds outgrow the grass
Cigarette butts collect on my patio floor
Ashes stick to my skin—my lungs turn blue
The legs of the barbecue pit become buried
The cat hunts and brings me headless grackles
A wild wind makes off with my fedora
A lone blue star from a child’s glittery craft, long completed,
unglues, rends itself,
shows up unannounced at my feet
as I line up the yellow thread from my socks to my toes
The batteries on my remote leak
The TV set goes mute
Lights dim as my beard begins to grow out of kilter
My skin gets ashy
The shed out back corrodes
Wicks from candles burn down, drowning in their own wax
I write while crying in a dark corner
Until rocks turn to sand, and sand turns to dust