Your Carousel

I cried
The rain that fell last December
Hoping to wake your sleeping heartbeat、

I sat there waiting
Thinking of the black lace parasol
You used to hold in rain for an excuse to drown;

I wonder if that’s what you felt
When I called
And your mother had to hold the phone next to your face
So I could hear you breathe.

Then, with my wet hair and eyes
Left uncovered by your hand,
But by another type of black above me
I was forced to sing your eulogy.

A song of static
Sleeping adults, unaware of their screaming
Children running into your unlit carousel,

Breaking the unmusical winter that you adored,
Leaving silence only for the occasional
Tears rolling down powdered faces
Onto your grey skin;
You’d laugh

At my nervous pulse
Trying to recreate your laughter,

I was merely breathing
The hypnotic lullabies
That effervesced from the black porcelain eyes
On your wooden horses;
The kind of ebony you could not fall asleep to-
I smashed them,
After I smashed my own eyes.

Yet、
My hands,
They started singing, too.