Yellow Pages Poem by John Courtney

Sometimes I go back
to my mother's arms
I watch her mouth
and a king
falls out

potatoes boil
hands fold
pray
break
turn
quiet yellow pages
into flaming dreams

I see
where the window
comes in
unpacks
and poses there
steadying
the lie
on my breath

I wake
into the back
of a cereal box
milks runs
down my chin
people pass
connecting
calloused hands

I see
between
the equinox
and solstice
from a fortress
of pillows
and sheets

new flesh cries
to life
owning
not servants
but indentured
reflection

sometimes I go back
to my mother's arms
I watch her mouth
and a king
falls into
one hemisphere
or the other