Their I’s Were Watching God


Brown Mustache

damming torrents of tears

Rivers slipped by like

sunny days



Brown Curls

quaking with vengeance

like the muddy whites of the Caney

during a flood



Puddled Eyes

caught on paneled hallways

Encyclopedias watch

the engulfing rains

Reaching out to red birds


Drowning in:

His accusations

Her fury

His reluctance

Her selfishness

His failures

Her pride

His abandonment

Her validity


Their death.


Toy tractors traded in

for jeans and magazines

Pastel polish replaced

by silent worlds of words

White blankets ripped

into indifferent shreds


Pleading hands

push back the green

on the oaks


A savoring inhale

of ashes slumbering

in carpet patches


Swollen I’s

Too full of skies

To choose

To lose

To love


But we learned to tread water