The Curtain

Its sound beats my chest.
It drives my heart ablaze in worry.

Slowly my lips press due to the force of my teeth.
The pressure of uncertainty consumes me bit by bit and bite by bite.
My breath becomes a clenched first and my toes grip their homely cotton coverings
as in an orgasm of nightmares.

The child runs in circles, explaining so well his curiosities.
I admire him for that, truly I love his youthful flowerings, but never do I let it show.

A year ago, it was his birthday, and I forgot his name,
but only for a second.

She is the corner again, she hears it too.
She moves her hands about her hips hoping to hind them from the window.
Her lips are lovely, thin, red, and in such worry that I would kiss them and make     
my flesh known to her, pull her hand to my heart.
But the sound, the pulse keeps beating us apart; it kills me like it would an autumn
      without hope for the spring.

Misplacing his step and falling to the floor, the child’s little head pushes through the wall
As though it were a curtain, and my heart rejoices knowing that I am dreaming.
A smile breaks my face and my dream-wife wonders what has become of me, but I only
      look to my little child while he realizes his dream-pain with a scratch of his head, a droop of
      his lips, and a push of tear from his green, almond eyes.
Pacing to the wall, I stretch my hand to peel it back.
Suddenly my dream wife and child are near me, and, while sensing their presence I begin
      to pull back the wall, noticing their eyes both beginning to blaze in wonder.

Finding the awe in their eyes, my long fingers pause and the pulse overcomes me,
breaks my spirit to morning, and I find my family to be:
a wood in the deep depths of autumn.