mother/god/gun

i arrange my bones into a neat pile

and push them across the table to you.

in response you break me in half

like a wishbone. heart first. i laid out knives

but you don’t eat with one tonight. instead you throw it at the wall

and smile with fine china teeth. the house

shudders and moans and cries. house that was already wounded

now a martyr. house that was already haunted

now a ghost. if i stand outside and watch

i can see you through the walls,

frying onions and humming along to joni mitchell. this house does not have heroes.

this house did not prepare itself for war. you raise your voice

and we stumble into battle like inexperienced dancers. house follows.

house can only follow. house listens and reacts. i’m sorry,

but not about the things i said to you. i’m sorry, and i say it

to the ceiling, crying plaster onto my head. be quiet now,

and go to sleep. it’s past midnight. we don’t do tears much here,

but you know that. you know too much. i’m sorry.