When I was a little girl- a subliminal girl- the crayons / danced: yellow limes in mahogany kitchen cabinets/ stolen by the occasional visits of the candy man. Mother’s hair unfurled/ and giggles wandered her mouth at his disposal. The boy in the khaki pant drinks/ lemonade and sugar syrup while his father/ and my mother expose soft/ sculptures of pure conditioning- like their mothers / love could never do. Even once in a blue moon/ the sea monsters would parade/ over the sullen ocean bed- before/ gods came to the earth and stop the holy ritual. Over the/ window; we waited- hand in hand- his tiny fingers holding/ even squeezing my wrists. Never wanting to let go/ as the gods thundered/ to sue the sinners but waiting for them/ for no one could satiate or empty them. So, we the Gatekeepers, waited/ with bats dressed as swords/ collecting broken glass to ward off the lore/ all night. For at dusk, the whole world turned silent and the sea/ went black to blue. The Lurch that came/ was bright, and blinded us too. A portrait of a perfect family burst to flames askew/ but in the morning dew scattered/ four translucent ghosts / who bloomed into kin- like gold melting through a bowl’s cracks.
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