When a Parent Dies
the kid in you curls in
a ball, a lost blanket shuddering
in violent wind,
all of a sudden
you are too old for dreams
and very scared
of the dark
rainbows become split
between blue and
indigo, and the world
dangles helplessly,
a broken tire swing,
unused fishing rods
and rusted out bikes,
lunches that no longer
pack themselves,
nights that cry themselves
to sleep, only
wanting to be
tucked in
and fuck is a mood
not just a word but a mood,
so is shit
and they are always synonymous
with sad,
everything teeters
out of order,
chaos brimming on the edge of
each unshed tear,
bad dreams spill into reality,
no warm glass of milk
no hug to qualm the fear
living feels like
a nightlight with no bulb
and monsters
are still
very real
