In the Doorway

I punched her in the jaw
& a molar fell out. Yep,
just like that. Ma said, Don’t
talk back, say your
P’s & Q’s.
A memory cleans
itself raw, a hollow
in that darkness
eating the half-moon,
pocked craters & dirt seas.
& the peepers chorus on
the riverbank, their song
slips through open windows
& slim light makes shapes
shift over the timid walls.
I wake, these days, & feel
a sense of having traveled far
distances, darn tired,
tired even before
the day has clicked on.
How have I liberated
myself—the past
stitched on a damp
cold blanket. Hello?