Let Me Be Like Water

I’m a bag of bones
wrapped up in skin. Hold me; let
me be like water.

I want the day to seep out of me in dreams that rattle like the underground, and smell of cloves, and pork, and river salt. But even in sleep I’m panicked, like there’s something I’ve forgotten to do, someone I’ve forgotten how to be.

You find my hand and we hold on, hanging together, moving through the space that’s between us until there’s nothing there, and we only exist like water.

There’s a patch behind the bed where I’ve been peeling the wallpaper off when I can’t sleep. I feel guilty but it’s easier than screaming; it doesn’t wake anyone up.

I have days where I’d like the wind to take me up like that. Some days it’s wanting to escape, I think, but on others, I’d just like to be a kite.