Shut the Windows/Shake the Sheets (A Poem to Laurie Halse-Anderson)

Momma hangs our sheets in the yard to dry and sometimes, the wind catches

            like cow manure and sometimes honeysuckle or a post-rain breeze

            hoping birds and bees won't swoop beneath magnolia trees

            weave between the threads of my comforter and pull them loose

Momma shakes out the sheets and the air sticks

            like starting over in the summertime

            light pine drifting through my bedroom window just before

            he walks in and begs me one more time

            fresh cut grass scattered across the floor

Momma stains them with rain from my eyes and now they smell 

            like nightmares spilled out of empty pill bottles

            like eyelids tired of opening

            like white alarm clocks ringing for ten minutes

            like making bliss out of ignorance

            like forgetting the sheets remembering the pillows

            like lavender spray I'm trying to sleep now

            like forgetting to switch off my lamp and feeling safer that way

            like bedtime stories except they're chapter books

            like mommy and daddy too drunk to read like I'm not even ten like at least the world dies

                               when I sleep like I can't sleep anymore but

Writer turns the sheets to pages and they smell like

            at least I know I can speak and shout

            sometimes the words reroute so thank you

            for letting me know heartbreak can bleed too much for the mouth

            showing me how to apply pressure to the wound with fingertips on laptop keys

            teaching me I can cleanse the sheets

            teaching me how to reclaim my bed