i get caught pretending it’s morning in the middle of the night

chandelier hanging from the stars, reading silverstein, crocheting 

my own fairy tales, when sticky liquor fingers pull me down 

from my sky. my father tells me he forgot how to dream

in a bedtime story. once upon a time a jerseyboy got

caltholic school swallowed and spat out onto wall street,

turned atheist praying mantis make-believe. forehead kisses goodnight,

i wake up to a floating goldfish and secondhand apologies.  

my mother wears a fake wedding ring so she doesn’t lose the real one.

her cold metal married my skin with a blood vow 

that mr. fishy is swimming in the sky now. happy,

she exchanged her bible for self-help books and leaves 

one on my nightstand. i grip hard on new bandages.

they call it a chemical reaction: 

when shadow puppets dive into the light and die

and i become taller than the both of them.