I don't know who tied these knots

by Julie Carr

We’ve been complaining about the same thing for as long as
we’ve been complaining which is long. The boy lowers himself to the floor
and on his knees, jumps. I wanted to write a poem to the future
unborn whose air I’ve been using, to write a poem to my dead mother
whose air I’ve also been using. At her stone
on her birthday, we talked about landlords. T…