WRITE THE WORLD REVIEW ARCHIVE

I stumble to the ground
my legs breaking under me,
my knees as useless as an orphan's prayer.
my hands collide atop my nose,
my eyes shut close as to not let any water in
or out.

i start fastly,
my lips flying through the words as the
amen before a hungry meal.
i feel my mother's figure growing above me
with every one of my words that she doesn't listen
her feet get bigger,
her legs taller,
her arms lankier,
her back humpier.

i tell her poetry.
i tell her the song of the sparrow sitting outside our window,
i tell her the times i blew a wish into an
eyelash on my fingertip and watched it fly,
i tell her the girl that became one with the
trees and the soil and they did not dirty her
for she was born dirty.

i tell her the swimming pool that poured into the pacific ocean,
its small waves confused, scared and cold.
i tell her the immigrant who chose a future over his family,
and his family did not choose him over it.

i tell her the time i saw dad crying in the dark,
hunched over the couch like the monster of notre dame,
just as pathetic
just as embarassed
just as hopeless.
quasimodo, illuminated by the moon,
esmeralda, the only one awake to console him at that hour,
for i tippy-toed back to my room
and the clock tower never rang again for eternity.

i tell her about coils the robot
who had a heart for poetry
and not numbers
and reminded me too much of someone i knew.

i tell her the secrets of the universe in my eyes
and the true intention of god in my words
yet she does not look at me,
now too giant to see the ant beneath her feet.