It’s been a long time since the piles in your backyard towered.
Filled up with tables and chairs,
Microwaves and dryers.
You never cry like you used to
Before the pills
When the pile was higher
And your hands weren’t as rough.
Some days I’d like to take those pills
And add them to my own pile
With the tattoos and scars
The piles and piles that grow on my back
The endless desert,
The mountain of spine.
All the places you can’t see
And all the places you choose not to see.
There was a time when I was afraid of you
Afraid of being carelessly adopted into your pile
Now I’m afraid of myself
And being buried in my own.