Tilted Crown

One day I watch a photo float by

A book in my face

I raised my finger

To touch it

And merely sent myself sideways

And looking finally found

What it was I seeked

I shrieked

Unwound

Realized the whole time trap

Is real

Then I unreel

How could the face

Of my father

Be turning into leather

The crown my mother wore

Is tilting on top of her head

Death dare not approach

The ones I love

I will beat it back

Undo the tick

My finger knows this trick

I point

Create a reference

Anchor time to the ocean floor

And wave to the crowded room

Shuffle my papers

Clear my throat

And hope that stops the coffin

Open

she sits him down in a swayed backed chair

reaches for still unyielding vine

and threads it through his torso

elbow across chest into pit, entwining

hands clenched tied back with wire

his desire to waken, unavailable

feet taped screwed to the legs to the floor

jaw stretched open stuffed silent

she tests the connection, push tug tilt

all is holding, secured in union

the restraints do not,

lessen, taut

world on paws, tipping in stasis, axis wrenched

she speaks and pulls flexing, waiting

he is talking, walking, her fingers flutter

he could be anyone.

it isn’t anyone. it is him,

alive with her nearly flipping

the switch on the sun

in the sky wide

Open