Song
–Laura KasischkeThe floor of the brain, the roof
of the mouth, the locked
front door, the barn
burned down, a dog
tied to a tree, not howling, a dark
shed, an empty garage, a basement
in which a man might sip
his peace, in peace,
and a table
in a kitchen
at which
the nightingales feasted on fairy tales,
the angels stuffed themselves with fogAnd a tiny room at the center of it all,
and a beautiful woman the size of a matchstick
singing the song that ruined my father:his liver
his lifeThe kind of song a quiet man
might sing a silent house around.
Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash