Blind Mouths
He looks at a circle
of mouths.
Nothing to say.
His grandparents sit
in another blind time,
each in a circle
of worrying eyes.
The children, away,
rolling like hoops,
a distant park
eating their screams.
In the speed of hunger
his parents meet,
two round mouths
to devour their child.
Round as moons
the mirrored plates
reflecting the rooms
in a widening haze
of losses and blame.
The bicycle locked
in the fog of old toys,
wheels, two mouths
of spokes and dust.
Nobody speaks.
The table is cleared.
He looks at a field of snow,
the whiteness longer
than he dreams,
a blizzard of scraps
confusing the house
large as a van
devouring roads
as it moves through years
pregnant with his furniture.
Structure
35 lines · 9 stanzas