wtf pwm


P. Edward Cunningham

on nights before I sleep
I push my arm up against my pillow
up against the pillow's case and throw
my hand around the stiffness
my thumb is a baby's foot and I'm
kicking and flailing and my wrist hurts
to come out of this splintered barrel

I'm breathing something like air and
waiting for my mother's shape and
at night I remember why
there's light outside a
heavy skin and why
we have eyes
up here