When the New People Came
published The Blue Nib literary Magazine, August 2020
When the new people came
my box painstakingly packed and labeled with the threat
Touch This and Perish
full of words I wasn’t done using yet
words that stuck to me
begging for me to find the meaning
sought asylum
any haven
among the detritus
the piles of self-replicating hangars
the lidless Rubbermaid containers
the socks and hats no one ever wears
the substance of survival
a matrix for participation
but not of existence
trailed behind us
leaking from us for months
into ever shifting piles
When the new people came
drawers were cleared of cries and calls
sorted to donate or to keep
as I sobbed
and breathed the scent of Brogan clinging to a
GAP 4T sweatshirt I found shoved behind
the shattered drawer of the changing table
warped and dinged with
resolutions I cling to still
When the new people came
there scrapped by the side of the road
were the sliced up 4 feet by 4 feet remains
of carpeting stained with Eamon’s blood
a monument in defense of letting kids learn
to handle sharp pointy things
and adult things silly and destructive
needing to be hauled away to
the cemetery of illusions
that you can manufacture a child
that normalcy is peace
that someone will tell you the way
When the new people came
our shelves had given over
unpolluted remembrances
without blot or contamination
grains of sand, shark’s teeth, postcards, hundreds of fossils
sanctuaried and padded by the four
handmade blankets crafted by the Women’s Guild
for kids hospitalized at Christmas
for our kid who fought off campaigns of hostile takeovers
by domainless viruses
by misdiagnosis
by medication side effects
When the new people came
our walls were bare
exposed and that jagged hole in the upstair’s drywall
from the hard-plastic oversized hippo
I chucked
in anger over my insufferable inadequacies
had vanished
mended and remedied
understanding the need to retreat
rather than to fight
left scars though
and a hard memory
When the new people came
our rugless hallways creaked
unfamiliar messages
echoey and sticky with paint
the scent of our soap and our food and candles
and our sheltered seasons
crammed in the oily garage
stacked and labeled like you can
ever name a life
or gather it
or accumulate it
or capture it
When the new people came
my Roses of Sharon
witness to 4 am nursings of all kinds
eavesdropper to hot tub convos under Orion
victim of airsoft wars
supervisor of the time the shed nearly burned down
consoler during the death of my beloved willow
bystander while I didn’t lie but
made the truth, begged me to be resolute
When the new people came
the wooden stairway railing worn smooth
and warm under our grasps
Held me steady for the last ascent
the last descent released my hand a final time
while my husband urged me to leave
admitting that we could not complete
the move in one day
we were laying in piles everywhere
I was sent on
When the new people came
I was gone
fumbling around in the new darkness
for light switches
for boxes of extension cords
for bags of goldfish
in rooms with no memories of us
and wads of cat hair
free floating everywhere
a flashlight in my hand
My Touch This and Perish
box under my arm
and nothing more than
my name
in my mouth.
published The Blue Nib literary Magazine, August 2020
When the new people came
my box painstakingly packed and labeled with the threat
Touch This and Perish
full of words I wasn’t done using yet
words that stuck to me
begging for me to find the meaning
sought asylum
any haven
among the detritus
the piles of self-replicating hangars
the lidless Rubbermaid containers
the socks and hats no one ever wears
the substance of survival
a matrix for participation
but not of existence
trailed behind us
leaking from us for months
into ever shifting piles
When the new people came
drawers were cleared of cries and calls
sorted to donate or to keep
as I sobbed
and breathed the scent of Brogan clinging to a
GAP 4T sweatshirt I found shoved behind
the shattered drawer of the changing table
warped and dinged with
resolutions I cling to still
When the new people came
there scrapped by the side of the road
were the sliced up 4 feet by 4 feet remains
of carpeting stained with Eamon’s blood
a monument in defense of letting kids learn
to handle sharp pointy things
and adult things silly and destructive
needing to be hauled away to
the cemetery of illusions
that you can manufacture a child
that normalcy is peace
that someone will tell you the way
When the new people came
our shelves had given over
unpolluted remembrances
without blot or contamination
grains of sand, shark’s teeth, postcards, hundreds of fossils
sanctuaried and padded by the four
handmade blankets crafted by the Women’s Guild
for kids hospitalized at Christmas
for our kid who fought off campaigns of hostile takeovers
by domainless viruses
by misdiagnosis
by medication side effects
When the new people came
our walls were bare
exposed and that jagged hole in the upstair’s drywall
from the hard-plastic oversized hippo
I chucked
in anger over my insufferable inadequacies
had vanished
mended and remedied
understanding the need to retreat
rather than to fight
left scars though
and a hard memory
When the new people came
our rugless hallways creaked
unfamiliar messages
echoey and sticky with paint
the scent of our soap and our food and candles
and our sheltered seasons
crammed in the oily garage
stacked and labeled like you can
ever name a life
or gather it
or accumulate it
or capture it
When the new people came
my Roses of Sharon
witness to 4 am nursings of all kinds
eavesdropper to hot tub convos under Orion
victim of airsoft wars
supervisor of the time the shed nearly burned down
consoler during the death of my beloved willow
bystander while I didn’t lie but
made the truth, begged me to be resolute
When the new people came
the wooden stairway railing worn smooth
and warm under our grasps
Held me steady for the last ascent
the last descent released my hand a final time
while my husband urged me to leave
admitting that we could not complete
the move in one day
we were laying in piles everywhere
I was sent on
When the new people came
I was gone
fumbling around in the new darkness
for light switches
for boxes of extension cords
for bags of goldfish
in rooms with no memories of us
and wads of cat hair
free floating everywhere
a flashlight in my hand
My Touch This and Perish
box under my arm
and nothing more than
my name
in my mouth.