sitting at the kitchen table
crying,
and trying to
explain to my mom
why i stayed
while she told me,
with small kaleidoscopes of
warped devastation
pooling in her eyes
and rolling down her cheeks,
that this is scaring her.
because, it sounds like
i’m the type of girl
who stays,
while her husband beats her.
the girl she raised.
sitting at the kitchen table
crying,
and realizing
that when you ran your hands
through my hair as you kissed me,
you were twirling my future around
your fingers.
this is scaring me
because you’ll be the guy
who carved the hole in my chest
that stays
i know i will see your fingerprints
in all the hands that will come after you.

And I Will Run.

you’ve stripped me
of the walls i spent so long
building so high
and so wide
so that no one could enter after the last
and now i have destroyed the;
to be held by you

the rain it
falls

at first
in tiny drops

so gentle on the face
arms

and thus the dilemma

do we stop
unravel the tarp

cover the field turn out the
lights

and seek the shelter of stairwells and
bathrooms

or do we play and
pray


the downpour never
comes



Whit Howland © 2020

We knuckle down
you and I

in a circle that can't be
broken

and it's a give and take
as we shoot

each other's mibs out
of the ring

collecting much more
of you

and me with each and every
game