Popsicle Stick Castle
We lost the cookbook, found it in the bathtub.
Added hot water from a rusty spigot. Added used matches.
We unplugged the lights, the blowdryer.
Doors chimed open and closed, the windows boiling black.
You dreamed I spit on the curtains, and rubbed
it in with mint leaves,
calling it “varnish” or “a blessing.”
The afterlife peered out of a squirrel skull, bees
sifted from milk,
condom tips and violets.
I held your hair back, helped you slice off
your silver rings, line them up in a blue plastic bowl.
We held our hands up to the moon –
light, like old ghosts, seeped through.
The father of your emergency: how he
kindly tied us down. Here's the locket.
Scritch of starlings on the tin roof.
Where's the key.