Floor
The house is creaking.
Its sounds are foot and pier
plank over ocean. And I,
in that boat, hide
in the hangover. In its dark,
I find the floor
where brothers wrestled,
or father and son fight,
or the ring mother threw.
And in the bottle, I find,
more ocean.
by Emilio Aguilera
Editor’s Note: The careful choice of words that end the lines in this poem serve the subject matter well. Every line break and image offered reinforces the poem’s despairing voice.
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