on a whim
March 11, 2009 at 4:35pm
she says she misses the way the rain runs down the windowpanes
because it reminds her of the way her father cried.
when she prays, she's a shadow between church pews
splinters of floor in her hands and
splinters of light tracing the curls of her hair
through stained glass panes
but it's not the only time she's on her knees
when she sleeps, she's a tangle of fears and teeth
in linens and things, nights of roving between
thoughts of love and longing, her loss
but it's not the only time she's between the sheets
when she eats, she swallows past tears
and chews through knots in her very core
all the memories she eats to forget how she got here
because her pride isn't the only thing she's ever swallowed.
but she'll say goodbye someday,
her heart's the only part she's ever followed.