GRACE MARIE GRAFTON

Long line
xxxxxto a painting by joel mpah dooh

It comes down to begging, this life.
Go ahead, roll the red wheels over the lava rock.
Thinking the sparrow's come-home whistle is especially for us.
We stuff chosen words into our chosen cave.
Paint the door blood color mixed with plums.
Those who pass see our outfits, our shoulder pads.
We carefully bleach out stains and fix our teeth.
The smell of rot, always with us.
We're amazed by the nest in the neighbor's tree.
Something converses with our necks at the nape.
We read biographies of the homeless.