used

scarlet cloth with soft fabric loops

that used to hug a face, lying

facedown in the center 

of the diner floor, vaguely indecent

like a tired brassiere

or a panhandler

intimate 

on the black-and-white linoleum 

just lying there

as i step over it

around it

trying to ignore it

on my way in and out

of the light.

I wanted my parents to love each other

I wanted to chance upon them
giggling among geraniums
or perhaps
kissing in the kitchen, like
in the movies with white-picket fences -
but our walls were Indian concrete.

I wished
they would fight, scream, anything
to release the pressure in our home
humid love with nowhere to go -
but they kept their lips sealed shut, and
the warmth was heavy 
on my shoulders.

I wanted to be more
than their child, to love
with an open mouth, but even now 
my hands are terrified 
of being caught red-handed 
with another's, and
my parents call me every night -
seated a me-shaped distance
away from each other.