Shut the Windows/Shake the Sheets (A Poem to Laurie Halse-Anderson)
Momma hangs our sheets in the yard to dry and sometimes, the wind catches
like cow manure and sometimes honeysuckle or a post-rain breeze
hoping birds and bees won't swoop beneath magnolia trees
weave between the threads of my comforter and pull them loose
Momma shakes out the sheets and the air sticks
like starting over in the summertime
light pine drifting through my bedroom window just before
he walks in and begs me one more time
fresh cut grass scattered across the floor
Momma stains them with rain from my eyes and now they smell
like nightmares spilled out of empty pill bottles
like eyelids tired of opening
like white alarm clocks ringing for ten minutes
like making bliss out of ignorance
like forgetting the sheets remembering the pillows
like lavender spray I'm trying to sleep now
like forgetting to switch off my lamp and feeling safer that way
like bedtime stories except they're chapter books
like mommy and daddy too drunk to read like I'm not even ten like at least the world dies
when I sleep like I can't sleep anymore but
Writer turns the sheets to pages and they smell like
at least I know I can speak and shout
sometimes the words reroute so thank you
for letting me know heartbreak can bleed too much for the mouth
showing me how to apply pressure to the wound with fingertips on laptop keys
teaching me I can cleanse the sheets
teaching me how to reclaim my bed