I saw hands to a throat like a shadow play in a tent
I saw one man place the head of another to the edge of–the metal bin
I saw the blood from plums dripping down my brother’s forearms
I saw my mother on her hands and knees scraping candle wax off the marble altar
I saw Michelangelo’s stairs flowing like a river
I saw my daughter stealing daffodils
I saw my lover forget me
From Claire Gaskin’s collection, a bud.