Orphanage

for BH

We slept in creaky bunkbeds, ceiling fans rattling above us. The proctor wandered the room, pausing over this body or that body, his voice wet in our ears, a fist in the blanket. Our shadows roared in that sweltering dorm, rupture we channeled into con jobs, knife games, weeks in a benzo fog. A boy choked a boy over a dice game, lights blinking before the power went out. I’ll write a song each time the memory returns I said. My wife, my friends, if I glued their name to a diamond tune, it saved them for a day. Too many beloveds one step from tumbling overboard & not enough songs. I asked the therapist what I should do. He said read mythology the world’s a shapeshifter. The priest said I should write a letter to God. My coach said strengthen the limbs for an upcoming battle. There are sorcerers all around us, I’ve read, you need that secret eye to recognize them. There’s no one to consult. You can’t find the ropes you need. You move forward, hoping that gravity’s your ally. At some point, you can write jokes in the dark, even as you feel the killer’s breath on your neck. You can laugh as the ground collapses beneath you.