where do you bury your bed time stories?

the bunk bed was the confessional.
my brother and i slept on the pews--
looked up at the sky cut
out of stained glass-- picked up
the pieces of the clouds
in red & orange fragments--
a new collage to set the sun--
my uncle told us the same bed time 
story through out whole childhood
but somehow it was still always
alive--
the story of the silver airplane
whose engine punched 
holes in time--
a glimmer sent the craft
past the wings of pterodactyls--
soar above the sinking
carcass of a city of stars
floating as freckles 
on the bruised 
cheek bones of the
titanic--
the crew played out of tune
for us from the slant of the deck--
violin string & trombone bell
frozen in the sea--
before the story was over
my brother was already asleep--
face wedged firmly in
the pillow
on the bottom bunk
but my uncle continued as i gripped
silver bars of the bed--
the plane always managed to find
itself home--
circling circling
back to a runway where the man's family
was waiting
& the men would always resolve to
hide the device away forever--
take shovels & give the memory a burial--
so i hung on to my own body 
so as to not wake up in a dream
as my uncle voice faded into the hum 
of a fan & the flicker of a nightlight--
in the morning i walk
out into the back yard--
bare foot & holding a soup spoon 
i am twenty & ready to unearth
the air plane
so as to dunk myself
into the ocean from a slanted deck--
i want pterodactyl bites--
i want the glimmer
of time travel to ignite me 
out of the soil--
i dug with the spoon
until i broke
through the roof of church
to fall through the veil
of stained glass
i had used to build the sky--
they were singing 
from the pews again--
a gloating 
Ave ave ave Maria--
& my uncle was there but
he didn't remember it was morning--
we broke time with our 
nightmares
with our bunk beds--
held onto our own eyelids
to keep from drowning in dirt--
i'll lace up my black canvas shoes
& start at the far end of the runway--
leap 
leap 
leap
we'll set the pieces of the
sky in place--
bury our bedtime stories
under the lake.