At 8-Years-Old, I Painted the Air Black
do you ever feel
weird when you think
about how you see things?”
She stands over me & I can tell
she no longer thinks about looking
through eyes that rip unopened letters
like twitching butterfly wings.
So I push her down the stairs.
Her bones drum the hardwood
floor & scatter into a dry pile of x’s: The thieves’
fortune. I recoil behind the wall & close my eyelids.
Thick blackness. I fall into its fondling hands
like a mouse on never-ending palms
that crack its wishbone hips & try
to flick it off of the pirate-
ship where my blind father
lives. His grin
reveals the cool gums
that I let gnaw on my arm.
I scratch his back tenderly
as he rows. Eyes floating
around their sockets, he obeys
the captain’s orders. We must outrun
the storm & ignore the wishes, the fins,
the long squeals behind us. Grammy,
I am the boy with two ears
& if I swallow
my left eye sucks down
into my throat where I can see
the trapeze artists swing. I wonder
how they stay balanced
with everyone watching.
“If it makes
weird, love, then don’t
think about it. Now, go
Cole Depuy is an MFA candidate at Southern CT State University. He graduated from UVM in 2013 with and English degree. He lives in New Haven, CT with his two roommates and works as a graduate assistant at SCSU’s Social Work Dept.