January

Winter again, and the dark falls fast and strong.

Radio static. Blunt razors. Tongue rattling 

around in my mouth. I bruise and twist. Sleep for

days. January coughs up childhood and I stumble

into the affliction, dreaming of mismatched memories,

faces I have forgotten. Here is the orange slice

of the sun. Here it's light, flooding

through the window. 

Forgive me. Forget about the dreams I confessed. 

I dredge up memories from the well of my

mind and pin them across the walls. Here

sunlight cracks onto the carpet. Here it splits

like the yolk of an egg. Everything dazzling and

bright. I am childish—

Still. There are dreamscapes at the foot of my bed,

secrets mouthed into the pillows. In the mornings,

I pick pasts from the light stains across the

walls and piece together another. Forgive me. 

I wanted to say it out loud but the words were

too big for the room. 

But I soothe myself. I dream. I press my mouth

to the seal of the world and find it has

already closed.