You have stuck your tongues
Into my liver like
A thorn in a hide
Cut me open in
The dimly lit street
As I carried water and corn to
My children’s table
On the fridge and mantel
The remnants of the columns
You had marked with your blood
Collect months like marbles-
An eye given and one taken away
Fluttering sometimes in the place where
The wings play in the moth-light
Under the awning
In the night when it is late
Your ghost comes to speak to me but
I cover my ears and pretend not
To listen. Render your little deaths
Into songs I can sing to fall asleep and
Crawl into position as our son did in
Your womb for those weeks with their warmth
And try to remember how you left it all
How you threw it all away
Creations by Luke Roe 