The Place Where I Sleep

must be black, impenetrable
so that open eyes
cannot see what closed
eyes cannot see
or else
moonlight coaxes silver
hairs from each temple
glowing like bioluminescent
tentacles, pulsing, dragging me
down into the deep
sleepless sea

Long Lost

an envelope
marked with our family name
in quotation marks

holds a tiny photograph of
a little girl
framed from the shoulders
in a flowered, sleeveless top
hair is bowl-cut
that familiar flat smile

a hand-written letter
from Reno
long, scratchy script
warm, uncertain words
decipherable only by mother

paper echoing through
forty years of silence
exhuming memories of
a child

separated from siblings
the cruel foster family
flashing moments
beginning to surface

this fear, this hope I see
reflecting from her tears
released by her quivering chin