Sequin Wasting

The first thing I remember was my sister
Like Cain I watched as the smoke curled
around her toes to the edges of God’s areola

Beneath the old oak tree I played war with my brother
Under the halo of soup vapors we ate and laughed
“Next time I think we should be the vanquished,” he said with a smile

My fingers tick off the beads on a string of jeweled prayers
Slowly I count out resentments upon resentment
The eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread

There is a place where I am sitting by the fire
There is a voice that gives life to the voice within my mind
There is a presence that numbers the hours of each day

The sound of the clock ticking resounds within my head
and small silver sequins lilt gently around my ankles
as long strands of ribbon stretch out into the void

The gentle rocking produces a stillness in my heart
while moments of indecision pour out on reams of textured paper
and all the universe spills out in wonder: wasted