The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 5 - Page 25

21

two poems by adam grabowski

two months out

We broke apart the crib and framed it around

her rib cage, to hull her wild infant heart.

Out here on the water our hair tangles

with hers, we're growing out of her control.

Can we admit that keeping something alive is killing us?

That nail we keep fixing just brings on more water

is it better if one of us sits over there?

I know I'm not listening how can I listen

her breathing is my mist is our breath is this fog

can we break apart while she's sleeping?

This lighthouse of monitor static

its pulse of red cuts in a swath across

our bedroom. Listen to every dip and rise,

is this storm coming or going?