candle

your misbegotten flower suffocated in a jar of bells 

all jangling, banging their tonsils again

it was thursday- or it wasn't-

 she was wilting 

on the sabbath, sipping at the ocean 

beyond the glass. 

i prayed ten times that day, 

all the hours i could hold myself together to, 

whispering to my knees and 

knotting my eyes 

to the rain. 

the kettle boiled 

and i clenched my fist over the 

red dress that was beating at it. 

the calendar wanted to say hello, 

this was a month later; i 

had the candles blown 

but i always found puddles 

beneath the spit tracks adorning your picture 

frame. 

i want to stick long needles in july, 

but my hands are full remembering 

the correct way to hold your shoulders 

in the bath. 

  there the candles flickered

  sucked into the spigot, 

  and drained. 

i was always the first to get in, 

you told me my feet were conch shells

and this reminded them of home, 

it was always that way. you- with 

the grape stain, i was hunkered 

down, or softly exposed

to peeling 

caressing the dream of sweet fruit, 

i wanted to suckle you till midnight

and swell into child-birth, full-blown 

turning out the lights on cribbed romance. 

i wanted to remind you that it's my birthday, 

 you died.