Cradle Song for the Girl Not Yet Homeless
       

Each night I'm tucked
                    in under assembled tar and shingles. Naked
Barbies, taped into their polyester
                    cherry coverlets, rest at every angle
so that all of them can fit
                    inside the Dream
House®. At 2am
                    my father crunches
numbers at a folding table.
                    My mother starts to take
on extra work, which means more time away from us.
                    I've learned
the proper place for everything.
                    Raccoons and deer hide
in a forest. Bad guys
                    go to jail. Lions sleep
in cages at the zoo.
                    By day, kneeling in the street,
I'm sketching angels
                    on the pavement-it's August
and my aunt has died.
                    I surround her form unsteadily
with wings and make her
                    smile, so everyone can see it.
She must be happy now:
                    finally re-housed
among God's chosen. Free
                    of suffering, my mother
says. I'm told to gift her
                    with a halo or else
she ends up homeless:
                    just a ghost.
Darkness everlasting
                    hinges on the details.

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Copyright © 2018 Lauren Brazeal All rights reserved
from Gutter
YesYes Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission