I grew up in a skull of a house pushed against an earthen rise
Where the only beautiful thing was a gas flame
That burned like a tiny blue flower.
Yet I knew it was my princess ring.
I thought I saw a moon bird one night
But it was only a crow against the stark white.
This was the same evening a lunatic wandered
The hillside wearing the black dress
Of Edith Piaf, howling and tossing her blanket.
My birth certificate was in my mother’s drawer
Of underclothes placed beside the condoms.
I sat in a straight back chair facing the window,
Watching darkness fall like a Han-blue window shade.
It was as if in a starless world I had chosen aloneness.