prayer from a new jersey jail cell
By Paxton Grey
what is left of me but the upside down
reflection in the spoon? i know of hazy-eyed hunger
for smoke. thirst for space. i beg the flames
.
to coat everything in ash. i am capable of great
disaster. as a son introduced to sin, i poison
that which bears fruit, sweet
.
and bruised. dad used to take a hatchet to the snakes
in the garden where i played. what is left
of me but teardrops in a jailhouse?
.
know that i am confident
i cannot acquire the word “father.”
family an afterimage
.
inverted. these mantras he wrote to me
recur. coal glowing in the fire.
what is left of me
.
but the faint smell of sulfur? i choose
to reach for a better feeling or anything
because reaching is all i know.
.
shaky hands mistook for fear. what is a god
without blood and light?
the coldest
.
beer will do. because what is left of me
but the carcass i tried to be? a slurred “father.”
keeping sober is most important.