and some nights.

by Michael King

for months, i
came home to find somebody had
rearranged the living room, set
flowers up to live along the windowsill,
drink up the sun and exhale color,
cover up the words i scratched into
those grains myself, bare fingers,
nails worn down to the quick,
people who want to stay
stay and your palms cannot
remember the wind while
you’re clenching them shut
, hidden
again beneath beautiful things

and some nights i
took them down right away,
set to work remembering you
with honest eyes, cracked
open the door and delivered
pretty lies to the concrete

and some nights i
saw them and set
my things down to
the floorboards, sat
there in it and
let myself listen
to faraway music

poetry