Needles scattered on the carpet
gleam as I turn on the light
and begin sifting through shredded photographs
and pieces of a broken clock;
a thin, white glare catches
then leaves, a sort of lightning
in the silence of my clearing
a path to make my way
past what she has left me,
a mess that radiates like rain
and leaves me wondering:
what fell apart,
what seams ripped,
what tore and let fall
all these sharp lines,
and what part of me starts
when I scan the skin
over my heart.
Extreme Home Makeover (the mother)
Weeks now since the cameras crowed over each step and boom mikes swept up words like crumbs, she still looks over her shoulder for shadows to tell her where to stand. The kids still practice waking up, shifting in their beds, waiting for cues.
Not finding him in the house, she goes out to the garage to find her husband asleep in his truck like he did when their old place was not their place but a hole in the ground. In the dark, she can only make out half of his face swaying with his slow breathing, each breath bringing to focus what could be ash in his beard.
———
Jose Angel Araguz hails from Corpus Christi, TX. His work has appeared in journals such as Hanging Loose, Adobe Walls and Crab Creek Review as well as been featured in Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry. His chapbook, The Wall, is forthcoming from Tiger’s Eye Press. He presently resides in Albuquerque, NM.
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