22 December 2010


Pill 12/21

My mother can’t help but call the sweater old looking
and she starts pulling on the little knots of wool around
the elbows

We are in the living room and it’s Christmas and it
doesn’t matter but she’s balling little brown bits of wool
into a ball of cat fur and calling it all old

I look into the ball she is making and try to focus on it
on the light gray thing that is getting bigger like it’s a
super massive black hole

Her voice is soft and she is meaning well and the
sweater is a few years old at this point and I don’t mean
to hit her chin when I pull back my arm

But I do and she drops the ball of cat and wool and it
drifts to the floor to the floor and stops and she looks
at me with such surprise

There must be something there then and anger over the
years pulled back into focus through the ether of space
gravity doesn’t just let go like that

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