Labor
I had the way out, but I left it knotted
The weeds grew proud around my ankles
Pulling up over the deep soul of light
Until all the warmth had been run off
It looked first like heaven
Then longer days
Then the loose skin of rust
Until we were piss-poor
And it had all burned into thinness
Now I am just dishwater
Grey from the pulp of a day’s labor
And whatever you couldn’t fit into your stomach
But the stirring is right here
Under my heels
Shrieking to be seen
My bones fold easy
I have fire in my ears
And years set stoic behind my teeth
There wasn’t room for that here though
So I told you to open wide your ribs
Until my own sadness was set there to yellow in you
I left the strokes of sorrow
Under your eyes
And all across your face
And tore reckless through
Your hard-fought ways of standing
Up straight
And for that, we both ache
And call for more bitter, fractured breath
(Run first through smokestacks
Pouring black
Laced with extra hours
And none of them dawn)
Never thinking that the next one
Keeps us treading
Not alive
Sometimes the soul of a thing
Is best left to heave and sputter out
So there must be sin too
In continuing to grind
Life from something
That wants so badly to say
“enough”
