Another word for father, static
the chaos of electricity in white noise
every pop and crackle of it
holds so many nots
If turned slow motion, we can
hear all the misfittings
how many wrongs inside of us
Another word for mother, lightning
the flash of white against night
it circuits through tree limbs
into heart stops, into heart starts
If turned slow motion, we can
feel the strangled paths
motion of trembling feet stumbling
Another word for family, carbon
the black of what’s left after fire
after smoke and embers suffocate
resting in the ashes
First published in Black Napkin Press.
Sarah Thursday 