The loft is filled with a shrill cooing.
My mother’s fuzzy silhouette rises,
Tells me to go back to sleep.
But I want to see the baby;
I’ve never heard a baby cry before.
MICRO
MICRO
The loft is filled with a shrill cooing.
My mother’s fuzzy silhouette rises,
Tells me to go back to sleep.
But I want to see the baby;
I’ve never heard a baby cry before.
MICRO
So you said I love you / into the seventh glass of dry wine, / as the hurricane declared your street / a river.
MICRO
There is body in the coat closet in the hall by the front door, body under the bed in plastic bins, a pile in the garage by the recycling bin.
MICRO
Another brown body
hits the dust, / and our cries
dance,