Poetry

He is a color I have
never thought of.

Above pew, ambo, and altar
Escape into pungent relief.

I am drawn to things
that destroy me.

Even the little dog’s mad barks

I mistake my friend for a gun, and he
offers to smuggle me out of harm.

I eat sugar cookies for breakfast.
I should eat bird seed.

for years I’d be the cranky older son,
jealous about the party.

I begged them:
“Keep the money. Just give me
the photos of my family.”

Thank you for never complaining about being in a cage.