Sugar Crash

My sister’s voice is a wire

pulled tight until it snaps.

I’m too tired to be the fire,

I’m just falling through the gaps.

The cookies are dry as a bone

turning to paste in my jaw.

I’m standing here all alone

under the kitchen’s cold law.

I peel back the pudding lid,

a sharp, silver metallic tongue.

I’m doing what I always did

when the heavy bells are rung.