He would be thirty-seven now.
Somehow it is raining hard today.
The sound of breath. Of waterfalls.
Of highway traffic. Of rage.
The sound of guns.
Yesterday, baby robins in a nest
outside the window. Beaks big
as their heads. Open mouths wide.
When Angela broke up with him,
in his heart the feel of fire.
The sound of breath. The sound
of rage. Of waterfalls.
He failed Geometry. Failed
English, P.E., U.S. History.
Threw a chair. Broke a window.
Go home, they said, go home.
Take it easy. The sound
of breath. The sound of rain.
Their shoulders sagged. Their necks
drew tight like turtles. They did not
call his father. They hid in shells.
He went home. The sound of pain.
Of highways. The sound of breath.
Of rage.
The shotgun with an open mouth.
Not locked away. Waiting
for his hands to come.
The sound of thunder.
Of fire. In his chest. No
sound of breath. Blew
his heart away.
Baby robins in a nest outside
the window. Beaks wide open.
Look to the sky. Ready.