Voices

I don’t want you next to me with
The smell of freshly turned dirt
Clinging to your skin and clothes
I’ve showered twice already and now

There’s an old home movie in the VCR
And I am drowning in the laughter of
A young boy whose voice had slowly gotten
Softer and eventually faded up into the sky

Words bounced off the dark pine walls,
Traveling through the entire house,
Softened by the long pile carpet and high ceilings
Swallowed by the hungry microwave and

Absorbed by the framed photos of us sitting
Against the barn on the grass, our faces,
Crinkled in smiles that were genuine but
Slid away into a strained requirement

Pieces of laughter flutter in the air like orange leaves
Scattering, broken away from their home,
Running off towards the rest of their lives, wishing
To die of life rather than live forever