I am the moon, with many holes.
A crater blown out of my chest
where something larger than I
once stood, and stands no more –
now, only a question.
My eyes, that saw it in everything,
have been gouged out by silver spoons
and flung in the river. And my hands,
that once picked flowers, have been
cut off entirely, like a thief's,
all that remains; two red,
raw stumps. But last, my lungs, which held
the bird of my voice, are only bags of
sand, no longer fit to whisper
my impotent prayers,
like a match in the rain.
I wait, fearing the silence
on the other end - is no one there?
I hear my answer in the white noise of static.
(I may as well have prayed to the ceiling.)
YOU ARE READING
Summer of Grief - Poems (Online Chapbook)
Poetry❝ then learning ... she's gone. Like a dropped knife clattered on a hard linoleum floor --- then, stunned silence. ❞ Poems of grief, loss, and healing, written from an intimate perspective. ❋ ❋ ❋ Summer of Grief - Poems (Online Cha...
