the unchangeable gingerbread house
rotted eventually
but you scrambled me eggs when I met depression
gave me a chair when I could not stand

Now I know why wolves howl
And the point of climbing mountains you know you'll never summit

That small satisfaction that comes with weeding tiny shoots shortly after they sprout
an exhalation

Left unattended they’ll grow thick, gnarled, thorny, and impossible to pull out
fingers bleeding
healthy, white flesh exposed on a broken root left somewhere deep in the earth

early mourning
but for you it's a long, late night
all the dishes lay broken in the cabinet
and I
pretended the shards would not draw blood
I washed them anyway

I prayed for the first time
though I once thought I'd done it all my life
I never fell to my knees
raised my clasped hands
reflexively
until your heart lay broken
in the cabinet
and I washed it anyway

When I left the thorn bush was a tiny thing
but so strong and well rooted that I never could dig it out
and when all the ships
stopped sailing
it grew so that when I came again it blocked my way in
and you and I watch each other through the branches
but I can’t ever be with you again

I wanted to climb into the warm bed
but I saw dirt on the covers
and stick insects scattered
when I turned them back
he told me, it’s fine

you can’t go home again

but the nights you held me
burn like wildfire
and I am the hiss of steam that escapes
when a blackened branch breaks and
crashes into cool water