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.