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People spend a lot of time trying to search for
Printed expiration dates. They peek in empty
Cupboards and porcelain bathtubs for answers
But their hands never come out clean,

I think you know what I mean.

Once, your father had a conversation with the
Ceiling in the middle of the bathroom floor at
Two am. He bled his thoughts out like a waterfall
And it seeped through the door and tumbled
Down the stairs like spools of yarn. The next
Morning, he guarded his new stitches like a
Secret but he was smiling for the first time
In seven years,

When he laughed you saw threads in the air.

People spend a lot of time trying to search for
Printed expiration dates. They glance at milk
Cartons and newspaper headlines for answers,
Secretly hoping to find a number or two —

I think you know what I mean.



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