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OCTOBER
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ENTRY 1: SEPTEMBER 30. 2025
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I dream you wrote a poem better than mine,
it had words I hardly understood,
My father has a small hole behind his ear. I saw sometimes, a silver screw,
he says it's from the day his father shot him,
a misfire, he laughs,
in the sunlight behind his ear the metal glints like jewelry.
My father thinks of a woman with silver hair smoking on the beach, he's staring at the wall of his room and looking out from the bed, only his hands
grab on the edge of the blanket, he peeps his little eyes out at mine,
My father loves ceremonies, he thinks of the silver woman on the beach, swimsuit reflective, his drink cold enough with a single ice cube, he touches on
the silver at the back of his head, he thinks, because I haven't won anything yet,
In his dream, the woman comes with a slip of paper, it sparkles above his bed, it lets him keep sleeping,
light bounces around the bed, sparkling from the frame to his silver limbs.
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