it's been two years since the last time I
held the hand of the girl who brought me
blueberry bread, and it's been
two years and counting since
she'd look me in the eye.

in March, I'm counting four since
I played my saxophone
with the boy who's now a body
stone cold in the ground.

the lovely Ms.
Smolinske who
replaced my freshman year
gym teacher is leaving in January, and
time is passing by and I'm
a rat and I'm
in a race and the cheese in
the end is
                                    never
                                                                    going to fill you
                                                                                                                  is it?

my mother works until
ten o'clock on weeknights, coming home
to a quiet house in the
middle of the night, and it's
been years since my parents
last danced in the kitchen
together. it's been six months
six months since my mother
screamed she hated my father, all
fire and all throat
and all anger

in two weeks, I
swear she'll apologize
no more punches
thrown, no more hits in
the same old bruises

before I became too old to fit in
my skin, my mother handed
me a mug of vanilla milk
braided my hair
tucked me in bed
fingers ran through my hair, and
Lord, everything used to be so
simple

before the world became too big
for my father's hands, his deep voice
carried stories, my little feet
poking out from the tent
made under his recliner
now my father's back is broken
and my mother's hands are cold

Lord, hold them close, and Lord,
give them the sky, Lord give
them vanilla milk and
a hand to hold.

It's been years.