MAKING SAFE TO TELL
The only way I know –
I ask him if his faith
is beside him.
For I am about
to tell him news
precious to me, her name
unspoken for so long.
like the skull of a sparrow, grapes. Mother’s cut
glass decanter crossing the Atlantic Ocean
in a marked box. Spider web, tissue paper
and butterfly wing, a rose in the moment before
its petals fall all at once. Like a camel’s back,
bridge over water, tibia of horses.
Like painting in sand, a thin blue shell,
like peace and ego, the underbelly of things.
he gentles himself
folding his rough-skinned hands.