The Silver ChildFather bore me of the bellows
Woke me by night to beat me
Stroke by stroke
Drew a fire
Turned me over
And father told me I was incomplete
He took me outside
The wind didn't whistle like I thought it would
The birds didn't sing
No rain weeping a rat-a-tat rally
No crickets pulling their bows
Father bathed me
Father drowned me
And father told me I was the silver child
Father hammered out the dents
Lonely twangs belted against an angry anvil
Father sheathed me in gold
Pretended I was pure
The first son not to shatter
The first son not to be sold
And father told me I was complete
Pencil SkirtI am a pencil skirt
A pinstriped business card on bronze stilettos.
1. The choker at my neck
2. Ribbons to dress my mane
3. Colored glass for my ears
In favor of
1. A bonus at my desk
2. Plaques to dress my wall
3. A trinket for my shipyard
I sleep beside the bleached bones of my suitors.
The radiator rattle protects my four-digit wages
From girlish distractions -
From famished sighs wrestled out by tired fingers.
It's Not You, It's Me
A date and time was scrawled in red and circled a hundred times.
January 5, 2013.
Today was the day. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. It's a miracle I could even wait. By the time I finally returned to reality, my watch taunted me:
10:00. I held my breath and fingered a chip in the center of the face of my watch.
I felt someone behind me.
Although his watch, like mine, was lined with silver and sported cracks that spidered from a chip in the center, his displayed a different time.
"You were four years late," he announced. "That's how long it took you."
"So I did it. I invented time travel."
"You haven't done it yet."
"Well we invented time travel."
He tossed me a smirk and began to look around. I was immediately embarrassed. My walls were covered in formulas and my curtains had been traded for equations. "Why couldn't you ever get organized?"
"Have I always been this pretentious?"
"Clever. I like how you say "I," even though