Hymn for the Brokedown

May something distract us from our bug bites.

May we find it funny when what distracts us

are larger, itchier bug bites.       May we pick up

feathers, their bright broken down. May we find

your lip balm.       When the trailer roof leaks, when

mice leave pebblette droppings on the sheets,

may the clearing out be simple. Our mattress tilted

back against the wall. Its tufted print of roses,

a lusher window.       May it never stop raining, Oh,

how we needed this rain! May we never stop needing.

May we call West Virginia, Illinois, at last.

The reception may be good.       May our parents

mispronounce things. May we believe our parents

don’t see us for who we are (—That’s the thing

that keeps us free. Thank God no one ever thinks

about Nebraska!)       May the trailer door swing open,

and may the houseflies show themselves out.

As the month of May sprouts the country of corn.

Someday tall and dark as sentinels, may their ears

hear us, as promised.       May the dogs go out to potty

one last time before bed.       May they remember

they’re on the same team, and may that team win.

May we flip on this porch light. May the tiny

white moths jitter this way and that—confetti

in this game show.       See dozens of rose petals

blown to the earth, like money, money, hallelujah.