small poems & small plates
Archives 78She sits on a hill before the guests arriveand tries to learn how to whistleThe lips make no sound and then it's freethe music others know how to make tooShe runs to tell someone but the house is so empty that which was there is notShe grows up thinking it will always be mendingbut the worries want blood, her life, againOne day the empty room holds some promisewhere you sit you can no longer sleepThe spirit of something new awakens in herlike a stripe of sun across a white sheet
Archives 78
ReplyDeleteShe sits on a hill before the guests arrive
and tries to learn how to whistle
The lips make no sound and then it's free
the music others know how to make too
She runs to tell someone but the house
is so empty that which was there is not
She grows up thinking it will always be mending
but the worries want blood, her life, again
One day the empty room holds some promise
where you sit you can no longer sleep
The spirit of something new awakens in her
like a stripe of sun across a white sheet