Every morning when I wake up, I lean out my window to say hello to Mom. She doesn't reply, but that's okay. She never was a good listener, even before she was buried in our backyard.
My brothe ... [+]
There is a place by the ocean,
a burial site for flesh and steel
where mast meets cross
and mermaid bowsprit conspires
with moss-choked stone angel.
The insects falter in their
missteps of appendages
They nibble on salt-corroded metal
and nestle in rot-sweet chest cavities.
And there, below the ground,
paying the baffled insects no mind,
the ship and human bones