He scrapped the cheese
off his home baked pizza
and gave up
half way through his organic low fat milk
and said, I’m just not that hungry tonight.
His eyes scraped the ceiling
while I folded metal paper
over left overs
and I remembered how it was to be 9.
10 years my mind rewinds
and I’m sitting in his chair
rocking and waiting for mom to come home.
The tin crinkles in my hands
and I remember falling
against chain link fences that lined playgrounds.
At almost two decades old
my mind plays memories
like a movie against my skull
and nostalgia like monsters crawl
from the corners of my soul to drag me further.
He gets a piece of scrap paper
and I’m enveloped as I remember
3rd grade love letters I never gave out.
The energy never ends
and we both grab out heads
while the foil beneath my fingers crinkles
and he screams at himself.
He says his second soul takes over and makes him sad sometimes.
I tell him my soul likes to write.
He asks if he can play outside; the rain dragging
in streaks of red wine against the window
in the setting summer light, and I tell him,
maybe another time.
Poetry | Journal 
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