Image by Michaela Knizova -- michaelaknizova.blogspot.com
The little girl went down by the water to escape
To escape from the smoothness of his lips
To escape from the harshness of his tongue
And the way he had become a shirt
that didn’t fit anymore.
She had tattooed him
in the shape of birds
over her body.
Before she had grown into her skin.
Now she waited for the threads
Between them to become
Long enough to break them.
For seven years she watched him in the mornings
As she wove poetry with her needles
and watched him dress. For seven years, seven
She was without her art.
3 Comments
May 23, 2010 at 9:19 am
This is your own poem? I love, love love it. God I so missed reading your poems! You made my Sunday!
)
May 23, 2010 at 9:20 am
Thank you dear! Yes, it’s all me. Written in a rush a couple minutes ago.
May 27, 2010 at 10:40 pm
Love this, it’s absolutely gorgeous.