Bruner Street -Peter Richards
February 26, 2013, 1:41 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ,

When mom fell down the stairs
smashing her hip into a thousand tiny bits
she changed the whole world
with a moan that went through the house
a moan that never really stopped moaning
but took over her voice so now when she speaks
I imagine something a long way away
something slow and dead that’s limping
down her long dark hallway of a throat
but I don’t think about it
when the mouth on her face opens and closes
and I can tell by the way she looks at the window
that God’s swollen from thinking so hard
her eyes go bad as I carry her
from one chair and into another
she needs seven primary colors of chair
she can’t walk at all from one that’s white
one that’s brown and another that’s brown
but leans all the way back so she can stare
sometimes all day long at what the rose
still looks like


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