A split in the brain, sharp pain in my hair follicle;
she lies on a steel plate, in a drawer, gone from everyone.
In the silence, there is a death; and after death
there is a pause that gives way to memory and heartbreak.
My parents’ house filled with souls, living and gone;
I can’t say any are dead, some of them I bring home.
We layer the floor with area rugs, overlap themes,
patterns and colours with rubber underlay, a sound barrier.
I’ve seen the house I want for us, in my mind,
the corridors are wide and each room holds a life and purpose.
Guitar strings pluck at my brain, her voice
still uncoils, rises up from inside my ribs.
A small woman on a stage can make a noise that resounds
around the earth, a tidal wave builds, with us in the arena.
A rumble in the dark, my face stuffed into a pillow,
to deafen the sound, and his hand soothes a beast I did not invite.
A heart-shaped token of something sweet, to chase away
bad dreams. My loose eye sockets and sad shoulders.
We walk through houses, perhaps ours, survey
the dimensions and wall colour; envision ourselves.