Quiet. Is it peace or is it sadness.
Nothing answers back.
The birds are minding their business,
inside jokes flipping between tree limbs.
I gave away my old mattress
to a gray haired woman next door.
New on her feet from
the shelter downtown.
I remember my time sleeping on floors,
staring at the crack in the baseboard
nights awake because they come to eat you
the moment you close your eyes.
Making angels in snow,
white and wet on her skin, on that mattress
like I did. Back when. Does my body
smell like her son? "You should have been here sooner
I made cookies yesterday and ate them all."
Tie shoes, pull on my cap and say goodbye.
Quiet radio static. Peace is a myth. Over my shoulder
nothing falling apart, only into place.
"I'm scared. I'm scared to death."
My cheek against hers, our lips to one another's ears,
The creases in her skin wipe my tear.
"Come over whenever you need to. I'll talk to you.
I don't mind."
