Crib Deaths
Brittany Cormack
He slits the tape of the package
Filled with complicated curves, corners, and points
the box, cardboard
soft
He settles in
Blind
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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