Honey Like Forgiveness // Mark Conway

[eventhealphabet]

He counts on me
like he counts the corn.
He worries down to Harvest.

While Father sleeps,
the moon gets fat on cheese-
it lasts all night,

a little head on fire,
still eating. It's like me,
I heal well, too.

When Father leaves for town,
there will be a silver
flask, forgotten

cigarettes, everything
I've been punished for
there for the taking.

In the morning I still like
to see the thorn riding
its rose

and put out
my thumb to prick
the needle, swollen to the stem.

When he returns, the mare blooded
on the flanks,
I'll clear her eyes with water,

then vapor seethes off her back.
The mare is so beautiful
he rides her

too hard to get home, the way
he loves me so much
it makes him angry.

He said I am forgiven.
I only have to ask like the bird
for seed. I'm the one

who caught it and named it,
stupid wren crashing
into windows. I only expect it

to sing. I give it old cake
drenched in honey, stick
its beak shut, say Sing.