I hear plates breaking under my feet
\nwhere the rain fell on the snow.
\nWhere sleet was forged
\nand filled the cupboard of the earth
\nwith dishes.
\nI heard the ringing of porcelain
\nlike the crackling of ice on the lake.
\nThe wind pushing the platters
\nof winter’s virginity onto the beach.<\/p>\n
Everything was cups and saucers.
\nPitchers of milk skimmed
\nuntil only the white drops
\nof the mother’s soul was left.
\nAnd I was the bull in the china shop
\nwho moved as delicately
\nas a bull can move,
\nmy ominous weight like time dying in its sleep,
\namong thunders left by its dreaming.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I hear plates breaking under my feet where the rain fell on the snow. Where sleet was forged and filled the cupboard of the earth…<\/p>\n