Grenade, a poem by Michael Channing

Grenade

by Michael Channing

so tired i fall asleep standing
hands treading dishwater in the sink
so tired i fall asleep walking
from room to room in the space of a blink
panicked lost
where am i
what am i doing here
why am i holding this hand grenade

slowly my memory does a polaroid
and i recall you waking in some dark blue
hour of the morning
your mom and i attempting to disarm you
to soothe and sing
and bottle the explosion
back into the bomb
shaped like a baby

A Child Can Follow the Light


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Scraps
Now Available

Scraps, a collection of horror poems by Michael Channing

December 17, 2021