The War was over, they said. You said, don’t slam the door. Don’t wake me if I’m dreaming. Don’t raise your voice. Night after night I matched my breathing to your measured steps. Maybe this time you’d come back to bed. The War is not over.
Untie these knots; unbind these silken cords, and let my heart beat freely. Let the blood return to sleeping limbs. Remind my skin— re-teach me how to feel. Just let me breathe, and I will take you in, your breath and mine entangled—intermingled—each exhale a testament to what we have enjoyed: my name upon your … Continue reading Reweaving
When we were small you pushed my Radio Flyer down the hill. It landed in the brook, dented and wheels up. I dragged that broken thing around until it fell apart. Should have guessed then what you would do to my heart.
For nine days I have counted the bells – Midnight, Matins, Sext and Vespers - snatching sleep in the stillness between the peals. I placed my faith in their music to call you home to me. Every six hours another bell, another unanswered prayer.
Dawn is the longest hour the sun through the window illuminating your untouched pillow I wait a bated breath suspended in the space between the words I said and those you heard Sometimes I hear your voice while I stand by the sea coy whispers promising you will come home Each day begins with rain … Continue reading The longest hour