Like a magician pulling doves from thin air
I am pulling pieces of myself that grew too big
I keep them in cages made all of doors
Taught them how to pick locks in case I ever go mad
Some of them go on long trips and I don’t hear their way of talking for a while
Every now and then they come back
All they can talk about is soft hair and bicycle bells
And how, even in winter, they like to leave the windows open
So they don’t miss anything.
The other night I lay flat on the grass outside my house
The night sky was purple-orange
Nothing could rhyme with it
Nothing
It lay there with us, me and the ghosts, circled itself completely
We danced on sofas
Agreed they were the best place to be
As everything in the room breathed and was alive
If only for a moment
Our laughter made us children again
As we dared our feet to fail us and let us fall to the floor
To see if anything would catch us
In this unbridled joy
I grew and understood as I lay my feet to rest against the open window
When the pieces of me return I will tell them of how talking became just another thing to be done
I curled myself tight into my knees
My knees they were two way radios to something
someone
Whispering songs while I slept
The cages all opened and empty