NELLE 5 | 2022
a sinkhole
a dying star
the ribcage of a long
-dead fox its red
given way to skin grayed
by seasons insects
fuzzy carnivores birds of prey
a cake with too much leavening
that like Icarus rose too high
the lid of my grandfather’s casket
I see in my sleep his mouth
filling with dirt hollow
as an open fist a palm
the menthol balls in the filters
of Camel Crush cigarettes
we lied about smoking
cloud bellies opening for rain
my mother when she got the call
the paramedic on the phone said
fatalities but didn’t say whose
the trunk the doors the roof
of the silver sedan imploding above me
my mother arriving to the scene
upon seeing my body whole
not the body being bagged not
the bodies already zipped into black bags
the lungs of the bodies in bags
the mothers with children in bags