I think I should speak

I cannot breathe.
I am swaddled in paper
dark in a box
with mummied glasses
and candlesticks.
I am not upset with you
stowing me here,
but you never smoked did you?
Why do you keep me?
I understand
your need to move.
Certainly the situation
is untenable
and the new place,
with her family,
well, that will be spectacular!
But they don’t smoke do they?
I’m not so pretty you’ll miss me.
Start with me.
Let go.
I’m easy. I never met Jack.

Pawn

Pawn

I
A pawn of blond wood stained dark is easily stranded
in shadows of a book box kept by fear for last—
the shelves already full.  A pawn has one chance
to jump forward, claim the center, creating space
for others to attack or, sitting pretty, bait
a royal gambit.  In other end games the pawn
promoted, replaces the queen and mates.  It takes us
years to master his tears when every time I won.

II
Jack and I play over drinks—his orangina,
my red wine—awaiting mom and Libby.
His eyes on mine, I hold two pawns behind my back.
He taps the shoulder holding white.

III
Lit by windows facing dusk, a surgeon preps a
wound—extracting school work, baseball cards and useless
gamecube games.  Familiar fear shames me.  I clench
the board unfolding.  It is easy to sacrifice a pawn.
A Jeux Morize set includes a ninth white
because we can’t refinish a black pawn white.
I know what it takes to lose the missing piece.

IV
Love kills en passant.

V
Guilt stands alone
shame needs another.
One child dead
the other thriving.
It’s really too late now
to fix the broken clasp.
If we play again, they say,
it won’t be on this board.

His Big House

His Big House

Jack’s friends lit candles.

Libby read Kindness.

I shook all the hands—

sustained embraces.

When the last guest was gone

she re-arranged the back room

imposing her order

over yours or her mother’s.

The furnace works long

to melt winter’s breath

drawn through a window

some summer cracked open.

As long as I have

this big house,

you have a place to stay

if you need one.

“Then I would hope you will keep that big house

so I have a place to stay when I need one.”

A silver frame cradles

a photo of Jack

climbing his tall sister

in Chenonceau’s garden.

The cold glass blurs

but I can’t polish it clean.

The tarnished loop and whorl

trace ridges like my own.

Dust collects under Jack’s bed.

I swapped his for yours

so others feel his support

and imprint his firm mattress.

I stopped resetting the clock

when the power comes on.

A green beacon beats

from your dark bedroom.

You can heal faster here,

not on your own,

and sound depths of your heart

worn brittle, riddled by grief.

My guests, you and I,

we understand much

too late.  Please don’t you

think that it’s time?

“What may I bring to make me feel welcome?

Cook us his favorite

after school snack.

“I will pan fry Jiaozi or hard boil an egg.”

Make sticky rice as well—

I share his sweet tooth.