Photo Collage

He was small in this photo
a chalk outline of something smiling

He was large and long like a sailfish fin
and caught unawares in the sunlight

He was clever and danced on Christmas
morning, and brought our mother yellow roses

He was frail and spoke like sandpaper
and cracked ice cubes, he was overdue for death

He called me sister fleeing to his bier;
his name was Michael, and he loved me

He was tattooed with crosses, and bearlike, and drank too much
but he was mine, and his stolen light still stings

He was found in his car on the side
of the road, and I miss him like spiders under the porch

Here is his picture, the last one now, a recumbent
sage, a chalk line this time of something reborn
he is finally happy as the album closes shut.

Dinner

Bring him his dinner
In the tiny apron

His eyes melting into
Supper and sex

I love his buttery fingers
Inside my nagging womb

I tilt like a whirlygig
Strange and akimbo to be near

I wince when he feeds greedily

And take off my apron

At last.