Waddles and Breakfast

This was in

a pause

for realizing

when until then


wraps upon you

like the scent of our loved and dead

or floors in spurious quiet

a perfume that wafts about that someplace

sojourning ghosts

fugitive violets

fingers tip

i would prod my mother’s mother on her smoking couch

to waddle the flesh beneath her arm

thick grandma glasses resting on book-side table

a mystery novel

i’m unsure how well my innocence brokered the deal for waddles

not often

and then even, i learned the pressure in the air

when, despite themselves, thoughts

won’t be held back in their skin.

one morsel in my stew

a limit on love


on the merry go plumping

and I thought with the sweetest mix of nostalgia and promise

life would be all bands of gold

if I could play with dirt and doodles

after waddles and breakfast.