without warning
I heard her voice
and was afraid.
sad and friendly
grateful for kept books
but I ran too late.
my mouth, my father’s mouth
exhale memories at the sunlight
their evaporating under.
tan legs on the dash
but my body twists at the beats of your anguish
like you scrape my chest of your mother’s ashtrays.
leaning against the bookstore
I wipe the ash on my jeans
in the silence I chose.