saw mill

i showed you my fingers
& asked
"which one
would you like
to eat?"
there is a dragon
in the supermarket.
i sometimes wake up
in a morgue 
& underneath
every sheet is my father.
he has eyes like dice.
how old were you
when you realized
no one had taught you
how to love?
i open my mouth
& spit thumb tacs
into the toilet.
split my lip open
on the way. for a year
i eat only pickles,
convinced there is 
a cleanse to be had.
online, i order
a new family.
they come wrapped
in plastic. they are
honey flavored.
the basement was where
my father went
to build his faces.
he had a table saw 
& sometimes he would joke
that it could lop
my fingers off.
i pictured the straight wound.
the stump on my hand.
he laughed like 
beer bottle caps in a pocket.
the worst part
is carrying the wooden spoon.
i tell people all the time,
"i am just like him."
an act of conjuring 
as if i could rewrite my life
with the unwinding of words.
laying face up in the yard
after jumping
from the roof. 
i thought i was
laying on the sawing table.
i screamed.