When I Was Your Keeper

That night,

I poured myself into your arms and

took the shape of that absence

It doesn't matter what we are.

We are made and destroyed

by what we love.

Curls of smoke cascaded over your face,

your furrowed brow.

I was looking at something that was never meant

for me to see.

We can talk about anything,

but not this.

Not the hours drawing long lines on your back

as the light dragged itself over our bodies

Not the songs becoming prayers, becoming brittle

in our mouths.

It doesn't matter what we are

We are made of what we love

You were never me,

I was never you.

Thanks for Princess

Toy

Horses

Are what you gave me

Not any other favorite toy for me, though I barely remember you

Kindergarten age and you left, but still I carry the horse with me

She is my favorite, but my connection is with her not you, why?

Fuzzy favorite by my side on my bed

Other things I am attached to, yes, but this horse comes with layers

Represents what I lost in you

Papa I never really knew

Remembrance

Is wondering who you were? Alcoholic, or man who bought me presents?

Not an abuser forever

Closer to a victim of your small-town location? See you apologized in the

End

So

Sweeter than fact is a fictional reality of only a nice man who bought toy horses

A Real Life Giant

A Real-Life Giant!

When my mother was fourteen,

while she still roamed the streets of Albany,

And when she’d spend her time with her cousins

Or with her beloved Aunt Dorothy,

She would love to be at Sam’s

While she was still talking funny.

She met a real life giant,

A man who never lacked sovereignty.

He took up the space of two chairs.

With feet so big, they looked like a deformity

He would eat a whole bowl of garlic,

Something so bizarre, it could be a felony.

She was a finch compared to-

the condor that was his enormity.

She had seen him once before in the tales of-

Princess Bride, for him to exist, must have been sorcery.

His voice was so deep, the glasses would chime-

As he spoke. It was definitely an abnormality.

She was frightened by the height and grumble,

But the gleam in his eye proved his sincerity.

She shook his hand, excited to meet a star.

Her hand was like a baby’s in his, normally-

Her hand was average, the exact size it needed to be

But with him by her side, she was tiny.

Andre the giant, the French WWF star, the devious-

kidnapper of Princess Buttercup. He lacked conformity.

She told him how much she loved his role,

The flattery on his face was courtesy.

When my mother was fourteen, she met a real life giant.

How lucky was she?