Pain exists on my lips.
The upper is not cracked or bleeding, the scar tissue is from the grief.
The retainer nailed to the roof of my mouth stifles from speaking my anger.
Fiscar shears cut my finger to the bone. I stitched it myself.
I pull thorns from my mouth.
One and two and one trillion.
What is the measurement when I will no longer miss you?
Did my father die yesterday or in the Devonian Period?
He is a young man in dreams doling my penance.
A yellow tear stained notepad next to my bed holds Pig Latin drawings in the morning light.
The words are in ancient Panjabi, not Farsi.
The handwriting is poor from not wearing glasses. I drink clouded moon.
What did he say?
Tasbeeh phiree par dil ni phiriya Kee lena tasbeeh phair kay Hu-
Throw the rosary beads away if your prayers remain unanswered. When the cross on my necklace meets the clasp I recite the whole rosary. This happens several times a day. It is beginning to suck up my waking hours, that and researching angiogenesis inhibition. To block the blood cells that feed you.
I started sleeping with the blinds wide open.
Peeking reflections jump off the swimming pool. A snow goose hit the mirrored surface.
No, it was an owl. He has a pearly wingspan.
A soothsayer who purposely hides the truth from those he loves.
I left the door open to the surf.
I wake up at two and three and four.
I look over on your pillow. You are not there with your hands on your chest.
I prefer the earlier trick of just going back to sleep and seeing you in my head wound.
March 29, 2011 copyright © Caroline Gerardo
Contact: Caroline is Author of two novels, and flash fiction pieces. She lives in Laguna Beach California.