CALL ME BELOVED

I’m not here. I’m all whispers and no will –
the groans of floorboards settling, creaking
sweet nothings to you three in the morning;
I speak the most freely when I feel alone.

Pay me no mind. Call me white noise –
and nobody invites cobwebs to brunch,
I don’t need those riches; I’m not real –
pretending to eat like feeding a broken doll.

I’m best regarded as a trick of the light,
no one should see this empty birdcage
of a skeleton, a gray tired face aching
from holding this rictus grin –

just let whatever you’ve pictured of me
win, instead. Picture me whole and happy.
I’m a better friend when imaginary –
picture me close to you, always; or far –

whichever you’d prefer