three sisters sweet as thirsty mouths. three sisters always in the losing. teeth flossed with cotton candy and burnt days seen through my teeth. neighborhoods of one storied houses, chain link fences. all was scrape and a drowned burn, the ancient electric. at night, air becomes bruised purple through telephone wires. at night, you two occupy the buzzing space and my body is alone. sometimes i think that moments are like photographs that have to be developed. it takes time to see the myth that was always there. now i can see that the corners of our living room were made out of static, tunneling and endless. in one photograph we’re outside mom’s car by an orange grove. i’m on the ground and you two are up in a tree, smiles like secrets, white t shirts singing the air. if you look at the picture for long enough you can sense rotten teeth. i would always arrive to your conversations too late and i could only ever see the surface. if i hadn’t caught you two running away you would have left me, alone. home only exists as a throat pang now. in dreams, i’m all sight and no skin, wading through rooms that crackle and ring. the air is clotted, bruising like blackberry stains and voices reach me like i’m underwater. when i wake, my mind is like cotton. when you two left me in the motel, no note, my mind was like gristle, empty but scratched.
i think of our car and the ripped leather seats. how we avoided sitting on the gashes even after nora covered them with duct tape. how there was always something blooming in the air’s gaps. i was all sight with a threaded mind like sound. the lights on the dashboard were green and at night it all felt like we were sitting in the belly of a ghost.