from Warped Passage

L'Heure Bleue

There’s no climbing out
of blue this deep. I run my palms
along edges of the headboard
as if a boundary can prove the past
is not present here.

Across the hall, a light switches on
in my mother’s bedroom. Notes
from her radio collide with lyrics
that travel much more slowly now.

The words insist we are fine
as we are but when the voice breaks off
between spikes of static, it reaches
toward me, sticky as fingers.

 
 Warped-Passage