Hold it

Hold it. This wasn't the way it was supposed to
pan out, we both flattened beneath a spinning situation
ironed hot, scorched and out of orbit.

Am I dreaming first your stay, then mine -
clay-making, group, meal-lines like college, the
potent connections made in all those suffering days,
the way the womb became a mother-cushion?

Hold it.

Hold on. This is what I tell you. I see you suffer,
breathe, clutch, push time along to sleep, placing
facts upon a high shelf where they can't be reached
without standing on the steps.

So stay seated, both
hands inside the vehicle, a ride dizzy but hopefully quick.

Hold on.