Charles O'Melia

cutlery flung

 

crack-violent education,

writ red on six-year-old cheek-

stained mosaic blue-purple,

thrust strongarm

 

into cabinet, into wall, into

rust-red carpet. in-

herited angry fingers, cut-

lery flung; shout, child.

In a Hospital’s Gym

 

Behind inwardly-locked doors,

they let him shoot on a basket

that would not adjust above nine feet.

 

The awkwardness of his adolescent limbs

settled into grace;

the nurses watched,

and talked about their kids,

and their student loans.

 

He never considered missing.

Like he could almost remember

a younger, better, version of himself.

In a Newly-Bought House


 

The vacancy of it invited possibility.

 

Green, watery sunlight filtered in,

spilling the floor.

A chair, which we kept, was too small for a grown person,

and faced inwards.

 

We dripped words to each other.

The ours gathered us.

 

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

© 2015 by William Ray