Brother Michal, now it’s time for you to sleep.
It’s only you and me, and seven years
of memories. The vomit of a child’s scream
and pungent odors still haunt me. You’re slow
across the edges, on the uptake, all around,
Brother Michal, say good night and rest
your head upon the ground.
My dark Mother, sleeping soundly
down a well. Please remember, so
dismembered, every fairy tale you gave me
so to tell. Did your art excuse the fashion?
Did it justify the mean and twisted torture
that your oldest son endured before
I put you both to sleep?
Fascist Father, floating freely underground,
rest in peaceful little pieces with the one you
love and I will make you proud with every
last fantastic fable that was never fit for print.
Our Father, pardon please your thrice-
named child of your first and greatest sin
and flash that toothy pillow
smile ’til I was not alive-alive, oh
Pillowman please take my hand
and squeeze me—softly, sweetly
’til I died.