A Bottle, a Ship, An Ocean

I feel it in the pit of my stomach and in the stinging of my eyes. I try to blink it away to turn my back to the mirror to avoid my reflection. My childhood is dragging behind me like a shadow I sewed to the soft of my sole and I want to peel a tangerine maybe give her half. I still avoid my reflection. I have buried the boys like seeds. There are so many flowers blooming in my lungs there’s barely any oxygen left behind. These are tumultuous times I tell the ghosts and like ships they heave up and down the coving and they nod and disappear. I carry my dad’s rage like a talisman I was forced to hang around my neck like a ring that needs to be destroyed. And the boys and the ghosts and the little girl with the tangerine they all look up at me and I’m only getting older; I still don’t know what to say.