Evens and odds: chance laughter in the street.
I watch you growing, hopscotch and bone, such hope
my mouth circles the song you can’t stop: oh
the sudden, breakable you. Who said we were all
odds and ends? This is where it starts. Four,
always this damned four: season, limb, wall.
I remember, even at five
that first tear in my misaligned
cartilage. Let’s circle, you say. I can deal
with wagons, the past, rising, tensely: chance it
even with your laughter
the oh I dare not fathom.
This article appears in July 2013.
