bullet with 

we kept a drawer full of rocket ships.
you never wanted to come with me
when i climbed into one. we always talked
at night when i got home & the stars were playing 
their little keyboards. lately i have been thinking
a lot about endings. the song "bullet with
butterfly wings" climbs out of my mouth.
it was/is one of my father's favorites. when you are
a teenager, angry music feels prophetic.
when i hear it now, all i can see is him.
his guitars changing into crows. the rats
who we were trying to poison in the basement.
there is a duality to escape. within it is
an ending like the mouse in a trap. a television
dangling by the cord from a tree. i wish
we would have broken more rules. i do not know
if there is still time. the rules are different now.
the night has our baby teeth. sometimes
i want to call you & ask you what you remember.
if i imagined the hornets in the walls &
the ants who ate out my eyes. the broom handles 
& texture of our father's hands. i also want to ask you
what we will do with the house when we
are old? should we keep it? turn it into
a haunted house attraction? these are the trap doors
that only you know how to fall into. i am sorry
i am always the sibling with the questions. but,
have you ever used a rocket without me?
where did you go & who did you meet there?
in our lives, all our beloveds hold pieces of us. 
i come to you when i want to remind myself
that i am full of blood. when i almost forget
the smell of a struck match. there you are,
standing in the dark of the red-floored kitchen. 
i am home & i am not.