Wednesday, July 13, 2011

I was told I don't share enough of my own writing...

Crib Deaths
Brittany Cormack

He slits the tape of the package
Filled with complicated curves, corners, and points
the box, cardboard
He settles in
to sit with the dark
Spaced out
 on bathroom floor tiles
fingers scan layers of branching pieces
slippery sheets
 tangled shapes
 one hundred or more
He lists the things to forget
house, hospital, library,
no picture, no package, no slippery sheets
knit, paint, sew, read, cook, clean, forget
Only a little world
 little shutters, little walls, and little doors
Perhaps an asylum
Perhaps a prison
Perhaps a factory
Hopefully a train station
There are things worse than crib death
your child
discovering drugs, disease, divorce, distraction
His head aches from the glue 

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