Buoyancy

Where do we all end up when we reach the end of our own lives? It’s only once the spotlight dims we realize no one was watching. Orphans leaving scuff marks on a barren stage for an audience of ghosts: dreaming of a home that never was.

We children afraid of the dark,

Above twin-sized hand-me-down beds

And

Beneath second hand blankets,

Cling to nightlights.

Hollow bodies of translucent ancestors.

Not all plastic child-proof designs look the same. The largest ones bear arms with belly full bunches of mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. Deep in the hull of a warship fighting for dominance of an ocean full with memories. The oldest of which hit rock bottom to be engulfed by the creatures obscurity commands. Hungry liaisons of oblivion.