Liver-limbed, the skin of hardened wax
rests unpleasant and feathers fealty to an
awesome god. A good god, but spotted
and hard as the underbelly of a hippo.
An ode to sorrow:
What can I not forget, beautiful and forgiven. What now,
that time has surpassed
the will of my own memory? I am an ode to sorrow.
When I was younger my grandmother convinced me that
She had been a long-haul truck driver.
I remember the cold dawn of the day
I realized it couldnt be true.
In one month I will attend her unveiling. Seeing my family now
makes me want to sing an ode to sorrow,
to take a job driving long-haul,
and leaves me liver-limbed and scared.