Tisk, tisk chatters the radio by my bed

You shuffle out the classroom door

A jagged twig scraped the softness of my ear

Tucked safely under the wings of their mother

Voices summon us outside

I am tired today, and so bored of weeping

Each ascribed a number painted in red

I am the chill on your breath

My heart used to spring and jump

The day exhales on the window pane

Vaughan Street lies like so many graves

Yesterday still lays on the coffee table

Nordhoff Cemetery is small and rectangular

I watched you sip your morning tea

The bedroom door is closed firmly behind me

The entire house is asleep

Health is a seed that swims in our minds

This is the stuff of childhood.

I return to coastal Maine to visit with my sister.

It really pisses me off when I get in my own way