Home for Summer

 

I'll be home for the summer/ sitting among the other/ faded-away books

& clothes/ humming with the kitchen sink/ as it runs its rusty tongue/ into an oval

Papa'll tell me I'm too thin/ and that soon/ my bones will chase

after the loose skin/ that sticks to my hands & shoulders & fingers

In a few hours/ my legs will press/ against my wooden bedroom floor

two purple rods/ clinging to each other/ in desperation/ in harmony

The sweat/ will begin to/ pool in the little pits/ that settle in the hollow

of my knuckles/ like a crescent moon/ that pours into the evening

I don't want to return/ to the shelves/ & sleep myself/ halfway towards death

or see Mama/ and her blue hands/ waving across the room/ trying

To wake me/ for the eighteenth time.