Numeral 1

him was  

made,

grunted,

coughed,

spluttered

Into

Containers tell

the shape of a soul

him,

barely fills this one

the bathtub too

And enough

space to

ask why?

Malfunction is a term for

Cracked bones, empty pockets

No facades, family man

soft fists, help

SOS

how do you tell him?

you cannot

name

yourself

you give

her

a name,

keep a manual

behind you?

How?

Do you

Tell him

the laughter stuck to the sides

of

his cut wrist

Is god crying.                                      

                       How?

My father laughs

In it I hear the sound of sand and gravel pouring into an unfillable hole,

bouncing while scrapping it’s sides and falling into darkness

This is not how I was taught to laugh

but this is also okay because now, I have learnt that I am an in-between

I tie the seams that come undone

and with fire, singe the threads that hang from his wrapper

I am a remainder,

vestige of a mock god.

                                                    In-between