seeing through my ears.
my seventh birthday gift is a sweat tightened bandana
and my eyes are quick desk drawers
slammed shut
preparing to return the poor donkey its tail.
voices rotating on a merry-go-round.
the ponies spinning strawberry cake laughter.
the sound made bright by the dark.

my grandpa worked the graveyard shift.
he was a spoonful of sugar
sugar dissolved at eleven p.m. solidified
at seven a.m. because
hospitals don’t lay down on queen-size
flannel sheets so
the moon was his sun.
he says he’ll live forever.
he doesn’t know
that his browning banana peel skin
is a dead giveaway.
when it happens, will grandpa just be working a few doubles?

yesterday’s yesterday i was a quill.
i was dipped into an inkpot brimming
with midnight
my fear-laced sneakers hugging the pavement
faster faster faster faster faster
attempting to outrun the black, but
i should have stopped to look up.
the sky had flipped the switch on
scorpius orion aquarius ursa major cassiopia.
i wonder
how many double a’s do you need for those
flashlights