❝ repeat as necessary ❞

[litany]

Coughed myself up out of a sound death just to hear your story.
Not that I haven't heard it before. Not that I don't know it
from the inside out. Not that it's new. But it's you, so yes
the rusted tin voice dragged out of the smallest birdcage you
could ever imagine. Raised a tiny wing, lifted a tiny head, blinked
impossible worlds under a mask of stormy feathers. I wanted to
ask you about the part where your mother left you and you stalled
Christmas for her well into February. I wanted to ask if all the
hearts made it worse, if it didn't matter that it was Mother love
instead of soulmate love, if like a car crash the most numerous
thing became cosmic with injury to the ten year-old mind. I like
to think children are more forgiving but it's not true. With a
grudge it's best to imagine the child with a sword rather than
a shield because he doesn't know there's anything to hide from.
I wanted to ask you about hiding, but all I had were more coughs
dropping as bombs to be decoded at a later time - perhaps when I
am actually dead after all. Anything else? Your open palm, your eye,
your eyeteeth, your tongue, your flair for spelling Good B-A-D, your
midlife backward glance down the mountain in which I do not feature.
Coughed myself up to hear your story. Was just as quiet this time
as every other.