Knock Three Times

A case of grinding
teeth as if
to shout out:

“I’m still alive!”

A strained ankle
for no reason—could be
misspelled. Those whispers

could mean it’s time to play

dead or to move
farther down river
before the quiet descends again.

A Natural Hollow in the Ash

Is where she leaves
her messages. There was a to him
till there wasn’t.

She can’t write
away the ache of witnessing
a parent slowly evaporate

on life’s bark
while still being here. Only a temporary
empty, she’ll be retrieved—

dents banged out,
recycled, refilled.

Then she’ll rest in those concave
curves and remember the name
he gave her might mean Ash.