BIRTH OF A WOUND

you erupt in the viscid dark, pulsating still
from the sound that amputated
you from your dreaming, the necklace he brought you
buried like a lyre string in your soft neck, its garnet
heart a testament of your father’s restored proximity;
relief that settles like mist in your mind, like snow—

your mother’s raised voice cleaves
you anew, discordant as a door hinge, her ire
pressing against the dampening walls, your mind abyssing
mechanically into your vilest fear: she will make him
leave again, estrange him
back into the lustful arms of war,
& then his terminal howl that shatters
the house from its ribcage, that lacerates you
from your bed towards his violated body,
his withering voice, even though you know
it’s already too late, you’re ten years too late—

the halls you know like the forbidden wound
of your body seem to mock you now, dark & swollen as a tick,
as you part like a comb the hush that has fallen,
soft as an eyeball, the tachycardia of your footfalls
echoing, your bruised, denailed hands that you mangled
to claw out of your costate cell staining
the sleepless walls;

you eruct your lachrymal mask into the bowels
of the scene, let its horror
take hostage of your sanity:
the slick room with its red walls, enmeshing you like a net,
your beautiful, carnal father, his life
pooled around him, offensive as an oil spill,
your mind a mausoleum, your heart a rotten tooth