Piggy Bank

I hope my words are a large bosomed auntie with her arms open wide, ready to receive you, press your head into her a bit too firmly and rock, on the night of your restlessness. 

May your limbs succumb to sleep in familiar, pillowy flesh and song. 

I hope my words are a ballad hummed directly into your ear through the muffing filter of my bones.

I hope my words tip you into rest.

Quiet now, righteous chatter, a dream is speaking.

I hope my words hold you still and drift alongside you, gently, merrily, merrily.

A lullaby of last words.

Drop yours into the tiny opening in my back, one by one and save them for tomorrow’s bank of riches. 

May they grow strong while you sleep, 

Expand slowly, 

Sharpen into round, deliberate, daggers that tap against pink ceramic walls and crack it open from the inside.

Still through the chirping morning birds and quiet into the risen sun.

Fill tonight.

Shake and break in the morning.