The rain pool
Let’s ride on mountain
bikes to the haunted house. Empty-bellied
Cicadas climb toward concert pitch.
fresh cut grass. Love for anything gutted.
A melted toilet
hangs in strings.
Bubblegum. Porno mags strewn in rubble
a post-hoc shrine
appetites. So do boys. So does the sun.
Where’d they go
who fled here as united in cause as cicadas.
What’s worse—sunstroke or hunger?
If freedom is chaos, chaos is love.
It’s love, then.
It’s cool. We swim
in the haunted, rain-filled kidney pool
such a sex-ed word for it. Gobs of leaves
are reeds in a northern lake. No, were in
schools of surgeonfish brushing by
our limbs, coral.
they are beautiful. You never asked
to be born.
the oblong orbit of my mother.
What we’ve found is as beautiful as
it is harmless.
Stevie Howell | Toronto ON | 2016