CH O K E D O UT
moving back to the old neighborhood where the birds still make nests with the hair I lost losing you the decade comes down the air thins and from the surface of the river like razors cuts the soft skin around my eyes with such precision I can’t feel a thing at the park there are needles in the batting cages dogs off leash in the diamond running first-second-thirdhome and home again the geese picking at the grass remind me of my ma who called everything a pest and of the shapes my fingers can easily make a shadow bird or a cage around your wrists in bed
TORSO IN TROUBLE
4
CASEY O’BRIEN