The pillars are chipping away with the sand
in the wind that hits them all day,
and I cannot say they’re in need of repair,
without your insistence of some other way
that you never provide.
The front door is open wide and there is
a full on family breakdown just past
the crooked frame that gets worse
and worse with every passing day.
There is a child chewing ice cubes
from the freezer when she suddenly
can’t find the room to breath,
and has to wait for things to melt
to get another chance at bringing
in the air
The older one is cutting her hair
without a mirror because she didn’t
want to know what it would look like
when she finished. Her music is in
the garage because to punish her
for skipping out on lessons
they would try to teach her more.
The mother has a sharpened knife, held tight
against her crystal core, while she is staring
at the ripples in the pool.
It’s always been her favorite tool for making
her feel safe while she was sleeping,
next to him, with all of them around
to hear it when it happened.