Cami Klabough - The Tragedy of the Changeling Child (Poetry)

The Tragedy of the Changeling Child

It walks upright like a wolf
in human clothing
Wears a top hat and a waistcoat
and never asks what day it is,
Because it thinks it already knows

It blends into the living room couch
and talks gently when you fight;
it listens to your sadness and fears
and flimsy judgements
and takes them as its own.

This is what it is to be human,
it thinks, adorning itself
in unwashed linen
and staying in the ring
in hopes of ‘talking it out’,
this is what it is to be loved.

Tuscon, AZ: The Art of Losing Your Spark

The fluorescent lights above
the Arrivals straight-shot shimmers
through the clear smog
of car exhaust
and lost people.

Too many airplanes.

I don’t life a transient life.
I find myself growing
tired
of the pressure changes.

I forgot to buy a pack of gum again.
I forgot to submit my final piece, titled
Dreams
And Other Sand Dunes I Can’t Hold On To.
I always hated the desert
and its’ throat-dry stab
of rocky indifference
But I have no other home to go back to.

Long summer nights bore into me;
sometimes, I fear the sun has dried me out
much sooner than I’d meant it to.

Your Long-lasting, Notwithstanding Love for Me

I’m afraid it was just a novelty.
Will you fall for the words I’ve said
said by someone better?
It’s me, it’s not me, it was never really me at all—
—
My ghost tends to mimic angels, sometimes.
I’m not a liar. I’m not. I’m
—
I pour myself out into molds I cannot fit.
I spill out over the sides and drip miserably onto the floor.

Perhaps you’ll find an angel who doesn’t melt
under the heat of the flames.
I promise not to cry candle wax
onto your welcome mat
when you shut the door.