A volcano fizzes out of my chest
Like a blacksmith hunched over his grey anvil
The basement breathes a quiet "welcome"
(she's on my side tonight)
The far corner of it, drenched in a lightbulb's warm kiss
like the ones you stamped on my cheeks.
My mouth, though out of the question
(for that would be breaking every rule)
frames the intelligence of words coming and going,
lost and found, like the treasured jacket
lounging on the top of the heap,
Prince of lost and never found.
My crinkly blue jacket
is the third grade soccer player screaming
"Out-of-bounds!" every time a blade of grass is
swayed by black and white or a dirty sneaker.
It desperately wishes to wake your mother
But it's cries go unheard, as it is peeled to the carpet
For we are lost and found
in a huddled, quilted embrace.