it’s close to
midnight and
i come in
as quietly as i can
try to not
stumble against the
furniture
that very soon
surrounds me like
nonchalant
nightmare rocks.
the cat is large
and motionless
on the floor
but it’s neither stiffness
nor bastard bloating of
death.
i look
inside my mother’s room:
under the comforter that
looks like a corpse
strewn on the bed
almost imperceptibly a
very small
and frail body breathes.
It was a night of
quietly howling skies
and Estellas and
the occasional shot of Jack
and music not
very often heard
and a body on the
stool next to mine
smile like a blue spider stir.
we talked about
possible contentment
and the end of things, how
we’re
pinned down like dead butterflies.
i watched her hands move like small birds perched on the night.
# # #
Photo: Kerttu
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