As Around the Sun the Earth Knows She’s Revolving

I am every kind of threat.
High-pink code red.

Auntie B is my father’s
ambassador to my psych ward knifedom.
She brings    her grandkids,
eyes sweet with fear     over
having another grown folks mess
                               seeding their dreams.

The horizon is a rusted sickle, iron sky reflected salt flat and   billowing
             like a portal trying to shudder its eyes.     In the parking lot B  let slip                                                                      she was once prisoner to  the ward, and maybe this is where birds are born
                              and where we die,   in                                   a castle made of piss
                              buckets                        moat                        drawbridge         
                              paved   with
                                                                  glittering           psychotropic            bricks
                                                                  crow’s nest        shock                    no wind

                                   
          
The kids need to use the visitor restroom  and B
                    snatches the clock’s wig the moment they leave.

                               Are you ashamed of the family?
                                        Is that why you don’t keep in touch?
                                        Isn’t it you who made the sand glass?

When were you here before? Not your daughter
           hauled up from the mudflats after a dreamemory
                     of  an undulating spider of calloused hands in      and         B’s  omissions.

                                                                           What did it to you Auntie?     
                     
                                       If you want to play chicken                the lithium is
                                       starting to kick                                 and bet
                                       I   won’t          remember                  to        blink.

           
by Casey Rocheteau 

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Casey Rocheteau was the recipient of the inaugural Write A House permanent residency in Detroit in September, 2014. She has attended Callaloo Writer’s Workshop, Cave Canem, and Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference in Sicily. She has performed throughout the United States from Portland, ME to Portland, OR, and has led writing and performance workshops for youth and adults alike. For over a decade, Casey has been involved with spoken word and slam poetry and was a member of the 2012 Providence Slam Team. She’s released two albums on the Whitehaus Family Record. Her first collection of poetry, Knocked Up On Yes, was released on Sargent Press in 2012. Her second collection of poetry will be published on Sibling Rivalry Press in early 2016.