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
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There is a place by the ocean,
a burial site for flesh and steel
beasts
where mast meets cross
and mermaid bowsprit conspires
with moss-choked stone angel.
The insects falter in their
primordial dance,
missteps of appendages
and antennae.
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
waltz on.