hush, child

they tugged at our shoelaces and at the hems of our coats

asking why, why, what does it all mean?

and ashamed to admit I didn’t know truly

replied

“It means nothing.”

I found them fostering the sun under their bedframe

light emanating from that once foreboding place,

which promised terror every night I slept 

they held it in their little hands glowing 

with a smile

and ashamed I never thought of this 

closed the blinds

replied, “you’re hurting my eyes.”

they sang a song about the moon

and the wind and the trees

with their wintered spindly branches

forming webbing across the sky

told me it was remarkable

how the birds nest upon birches 

which resemble the bones of their wings 

do we too,

live in houses 

shaped like our graves? our ribs? 

Ashamed 

I cast my gaze far away 

palms splayed outward in resignation 

(pleading? praying? bracing to be saved

to climb up upon the thin gray bones

far away from everything)

and they turned their wrist around 

to show me their veins 

pointed back to the woods

and the roots of small grass onions

they looked so desperate 

they looked so lost 

“why is it, that despite

how deeply braided everything is

into everything else, that I still manage

to feel a split within my own skull?”

Afraid afraid afraid I take them 

by the shoulders 

and shake them 

It’s because you fell

it’s because you were dropped