Pouring

she looks like she’s sleeping
and the little boy says,
“momma?”
stark in the brittle air
he takes a step, another
soft clicks shake the fragile tranquility
“momma, momma”
more steps, soft little booms
quick, quick, hurry, hurry
splinter, splinter, crack, crack
his chubby fingers splay across her cheek
slack-jaw mouth is red
blue eyes glass
and the room crashes to the floor
raining sheets of mother-filled childhood
to puddle around his feet
as he screams