by Samantha Malay
published in Sheila-Na-Gig, volume 3.2, Winter 2018
Could you see the shape of here from there
as you rode your bike along the shore
the summer you turned twelve?
feasts of gleaned fruit
a place to sleep between the trees
and water in the ditch
Did you trade mystery for certainty
one night around the dinner table
or some dawn
in the fishtank glow
of a livingroom on Orchard Street?
fold the baby’s blanket
there are thistles in the grass
and upturned nails
Did birds fly near
when you circled home
and stood in the unlit kitchen?
with a lack of ritual
we held your hands
and knew no words to harbor you