works by william pham, 2005-present

index | poetry | fiction

Our Valleys of Skin and Bone
Her fingertips slid across my collarbone like oil,
Viscous, or traveled as a blind man would,
Led by winds and dust through the valleys
Of skin and bone, as we lay atop a creaking bed
Not large enough to contain the vastness
Of our self-loathing; it was refracted
Through the blades of a slowly-turning ceiling fan
Into shadows that fell across our pale faces.
We drank in silence and drank in silence
To dull our senses but it came out again
In every drop of sweat: "So," she said,
And then the five ‘o clock express shouted
Down the tracks a thunderous reprimand
From stepfathers, grandfathers,
Belt fathers, fist fathers,
And they drowned her in their fury.

I knew then that we inherited the silence that we drank so readily
From the voices of the men who built our valleys of skin and bone.

Her fingertips slid across my collarbone like oil,
Viscous, and I traveled her as a blind man would.

copyright (c) 2005 by william pham