jack-o'-lone
Emily Cheah
memory slips its leash
the wind threads through my sleeves, curls my fingers into numb fists & steals the end of my scarf –
carries me toward the corner
where he cries, slow & sticky
rivers streaked across his orange cheeks flicker & sputter & drip
light trembles in his hollow throat, a mouth, a carved wound of joy too wide burn, drip & burn &
call it breathing
flaring ribs of wax bend soft like mine, the air tainted with sweet rot & candle smoke
walking the quiet ache
between here & everywhere