(but once only ever
have the drownings gurgled wetly
secrets)
i am some small
number of things, a primary
color toddling between memory
and lonely five
new paint in peeling summertime
toe inspecting the hissing poolside
and my mothers doom is comfortable inside
on the phone
plotting in hospital white(planning
two-stories of broken nights for
age bleary truths)
and dear sister of naming,
distracted by blame,
misses when my air changes
outfits to miserable blue wet and
i am some small
drowning
a bloat of child gone missing
and rushrushrush
to tamers of the dead
they brush me back to life
but new paint is dead, only
pale wash of color
hiding former brightness from
its own page

i am some small
teeming of things, muddy
too many hands pastel at
ten past lonely five, and
mother is murmuring
secrets of a small drowning

since then i have
been underwater

11/09/2006

Author's Note: i drowned when i was a child.

Posted on 11/10/2006
Copyright © 2026 Peter Hsu