Cast


I squeezed your arm for a time.
Warm, tight as a drum, 
no water or light got in.
I weighed on you with all I had.
 
I was there at the bus stop
in the classroom, touched over 
again and again, doted on.
I watched you re-learn how to write
with the wrong hand, turn door
knobs, use a fork, put on socks.
I lay on your torso all night long.

I sat with you during recess.
You watched the other children
run and play outside. We opened
a book in your lap, we tried to
read.
 
One day a saw sliced me in half,
cracked me right down the middle.
My particles flew through fluorescent lights.
I grew cold. Excited murmurs 
buzzed through the room.
 
Now I sit at the back of the closet
the door ajar, I watch you jump on 
the bed, dribble a basketball,
throw your body around like a rag doll.
My red color, faded. My
words don’t match up.
 
All I want is to touch your
skin again, feel your heat,
heal you, forever.




The Fawn


You sensed the mother
before you saw her,
waiting behind pines.

The fawn emerged from 
forest darkness shook 
green bottle flies off its ears,
danced in the wide, field.

The mid-length yellow colored
grasses provided some cover, 
not a lot. The sun glowed.
His back legs kicked.
His torso wiggled.

The doe watched, keen,
silently conveying:
don’t stay in the light too long
we live in between.