My mother floats across the floor of our kitchen and kisses me
on the forehead
My second memory
second
sea
Smoking a cigarette
She’s alive
but she’s acting
like she’s
dead
That watery light people get sometimes
when they’re first arriving
and when
they’re
leaving for good
The cigarette ash falling
into the sink
it
sounds like the sea
•
The foghorns
are spelling someone’s
name
Not your name
Maybe they used to
but not any-
more
It serves us right to be alive
We move out across the water in our stupid bodies and blow out the
breakers one by one
Delivered
from our names
into some secret
home
from FliesFind it in the library
Copyright © 2011 Michael Dickman
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.