“Parents” by Erica Kimmel

pair, rant, apparently with time all things become clearer
and more still between eruptions.
Parents, rent a space for me and she can stay here too.
Write a check. Make it thick. Slip it into my pocket and set
me squawking down the sidewalks that crack beneath my
fingerbones that crack too.
Switch the money!
The other box is emptying as this one fills that one and
empties into some one.
fourty thousand floats in a space that only exists in my
father’s waking.
We will die as we die, we die to live to tie you to the
swealthy mess of what is meant to mean something to
someone else who I will never be.
I’ll wear a stained wife beater when my
greatgreatgrandfather’s third girlfriend once but now too old
to be a wife pulls two hundred one hundred dollar bills out
from between her soft white curls, that fall from her head
lock by lock by lock lock lock
and seep beneath my skin.
I’ll rip off my wife beater at my chest one day,
And run naked through the streets of a new city
paved with Irish slate roofs to walk on, walk on.


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