Echolocation

I talk like echolocation,
but your echoes are empty. Your shape
one I could trace blind, but when I call
only the night sky answers back.
You are nowhere to be found among the constellations.
I’m your Stellaluna, but let me live right side
up.

I trust you–or try
–like knowing you’d catch me at the bottom
of the big slide at the playground.
But your faith in me scatters
like oil in a hot pan, scalding
us both. Tempers like cayenne
sizzle.

Send me echoes back,
love waves across the air, mother
steady. Ears listening
for my voice and what I have to say.
Too many words fill up our space, raining
down with acid intent. Look,
we’re corroding, one sharp blow
to level our foundation.