These Rooms of Waiting

Ammonia
creeps from the cracks of the sterile halls;
sirens and whispers compete for the spotlight.
i want to walk through the wall
and though it has been coming,
you are not ready.

My breath rattles
dead twig dry,

broken glass flows through my bones.
hold gentle and feel my heart tear each beat
beneath this paper skin:
tears have no more home here.

Rest your head here, my love.
Can you hear it now?

Give big sister my present,
the one I picked from the
gift shop
the red one with the black eyes;
I think we both know
I will be far away the day of her party.

Tell her I hope
she has a happy
seventh birthday.