13 April 2016

April 13: Owning the Poem

Perhaps I feel like
if I can save the poem
hide it somewhere
I will be able to
own it

it will be stamped
onto my soul

like the bruises
on my hips, or
the scratch on
S's knee.

If I can own it
it will sing me
to sleep
when the darkness
isn't enough;

perhaps it will be
a blue-gold sky
for my sadness.

Perhaps it will drown me.
Perhaps it will show me
my own little face
in a hundred pennies
that I will end up

only to find
something that smells
like cinnamon and rain
in the rush of wind.

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