1023

in the basement of her church
her mother handing out flyers
leaflets on how to live
properly and without regret

a Christmas play

she was a little lion
he forgot his lines

she stuck her nose
small and black
through the bars of the stairs
leading to the recital hall
he caressed her face
ran his thumb
slowly down her forehead
dove off her nose

her mother was sleeping
screwing some man
new in town from Puerto Rico

she wrote sad poetry
lines about spaceships
satellites and alien love
just foreign

“his English is broken
I climb upwards
my mother climbs sideways
I climb sideways
I sleep on a churning
satellite covered in ice
silently blinking at me
I cover my eyes
I’m an emotion
simply overlooked”

he read her poetry
nestled under his sheets
blue light on his face
he said they were grand
observations too young
too fresh in the making

they made a little house
red brick
underneath a cross

her makeup smeared from tears
no longer a little lion
smears of an identity