Donald Illich
Chalk
Outfitted as a stick man
in the chalk universe,
I avoid erasers she aims
at my white limb lines,
jump into airplanes,
fire bullets at a house
far too small for my
family to ever fit inside,
where I've drawn her
as a monster eating
flowers on its sides.
She says I've never
had flesh, my disguise
is who I really am.
Three dimensions are
too hard for a boy who
wants suns to shine
over mom and dad forever,
spokes to point toward
kites' smiley faces,
dogs to chew triangles
inside bowls bigger
than the moon.
I spray sparkles over
her black hair, watch
stars glues themselves
in spirals on her
construction paper face.
She can't vanish me,
because I've hidden
in evening's lessons,
a curriculum she can't
understand. I scratch
down her heart with
my fingernails, I smear
my powdery body
on her nighttime sky.
***