Sunday, April 9, 2017

time comma compressed

Intimate something,
lingering in the space
between my question and
your answer.

Intimate nothing,
underneath the granite
headstone
graveyard grass

Intimate someone,
hidden in a birdsong,
in wild wind whipping
across South Quad,
sunlight on my quiet book
in a loud dining hall.

Leaning on the slick
wood podium
in the dark apse of the chapel
a private altar of my own.

Robins egg blue fingernails
tap-tap-tap on the polished
surface. I lean,
moaning some sort of prayer
mixing with the darkness and wind.

I am the sacrifice--

slaughter me,
here on this table.
Break open something soft and strong
underneath the vulnerable.
Slice away impurities,
refine me into woman,
who am but girl.

Hercules, you answer.
Small dots of significance
connect our stars into
one sweet constellation.

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