f is for forever, and: The Flame

F is for forever

you know i had to provei existed every morning

wide enough to devour starlightopening its hungry mouth

in my hand rattled awakei went back there those nights

with another black Krylonand falling i spun eyes closed

close to my shoulder bladesa sharp wind rose to clip me

like a pair of scissorswinged soaring until i

went out of flight and wokefrom dreaming a death

where i followedinto the cemetery

the brown boys i saidi wasn't going to go out like

as if it were that easy forthem foos to take me

there with a 187 in silverover my name I knew

everyone will punk youif one toy does because

i already knew who i was &didn't care for them because

it was something the wordsI RUN SHIT FOREVER

meant on cinderblock ora rooftop making me believe

i would remain O what a briefsprayed stay i had so

higher and higher i climbedfences as if i could fly from—

The Flame

A ballerina a boy sees spinningin a music box. Or in the light ofa candle, the day of a family tripto a Spanish mission. The candle flamelike a hand up for him to stop lookingat his parents through the window. They areyelling outside. Mouths wide: claws without sound.Glass too thick, the boy too far to hear themthis time. The candle whips after his breath.Or, this is home years later. Music boxon Mom's vanity. Ballerina withsilver turnkey winding into her spine.There she is, his mother, gathering clothesin black bags—a background of blurred hurry.Someone tell this boy it's okay to beafraid. The ballerina's arms are raised,curved like the tip of a flame. His mom says,only take what you can hold in your hands.The ballerina slowly spins. He wantsto see what she does when the music ends.His mother grabs his arm—something he won'tremember. He'll remember leaving herthere; a soft, boxed music clicking away;how a flame can tremble but still hold, howstiff her body was as she turned and turned.