Left Behind
© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre
No
Not in that same place-
the barefoot on wet shower floor space
the dry heaving, chest collapsing place
not that half sleep/stumbling pace
Not from that place
where these lips crack
from neglect and under/use
where this brow furrows
from deep incandescent
soul searching truths
where thieves take from pockets
unearned souf (breath)
not in that place
of broken-words
and broken-ness
and un-done seams
in broken dreams
not from that place...
where I laid
naked
in those wilderness parts
frail hands my only guards
against the elements
against the malcontent
within this heart...
...that I gave
under the absence of pretense
without the guise of
repentant lies
I gave
the cradle
where my soul sleeps
the moments
between my heart beats
the womb
where my children speak
in a word: all of me
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2 comments:
there is such a quiet power behind your words, Sandra.
'where my children speak'
are you kidding me?
another great one, hon.
:)
-S
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