DetoNation

There’s a joke that ends with —huh? It’s the bomb saying here is your father. Now here is your father inside your lungs. Look how lighter the earth is — afterward. To even write the word father is to carve a portion of the day out of a bomb-bright page. There’s enough light to drown in but never enough to enter the bones & stay.Don’t stay here, he said,my boy broken by the names of flowers. Don’t cry anymore. So I ran into the night. The night: my shadow growing toward my father.