The eggs from which
they emerged
were within me
before I was born.
The palm leaves
rustle in the wind
the sound of the ocean
water pours
the river dry
cement construction
I wait for El Niño
like its mother
I wail against the wall
slight wind again
cool underneath
a current
in the shallow water
an empty glass aquarium
the heat
a velvet animal
smothers me
flies around the kitchen sink
tea stained cups
broken handle glued back
years ago
the clay dries quickly now
no time to sculpt the details
I capture the glance
of the car that moves by
too close
on hot asphalt
shimmer ghosts
dance
at night
on hot cement from the day
I lie
awake
* * *
I am sorry
My daughter
does not know the words
I am sorry
my son knows them too well
I am sorry
I have ruined their lives.
It is you, they said.
I am sorry.
I want to tell them about
bookends and over compensation
dead baby predator birds up the street
when we left the house
the only thing they loved
I am sorry
my skin
a landscape from death valley
I am sorry
the rage and sickness of finding the residue
of heroin in the teenager room-
bitumen at the end of the hollowed plastic pen
under the bed
Yes.
the rage and resentment
of being treated as a sub human
only good enough
to cook, clean, drive, and do laundry
I am sorry
I tried to save both of them
because I thought I had failed
I am sorry
I look in the mirror
My daughter livid with rage
stares out the window
the window she hates
in the house she hates
because I sold the other house
the mother she hates
across the table
I watch
as my son lies
I am sorry.
ghost writing.
I am sorry.
I am sorry.
I am sorry.
I look in the mirror.
* * *
look upon me and weep
look upon me and curse
look upon me and blame
thrown to the wind
but do not tell me what I am doing.
