you asked for 15 minutes
to play with clear glass marbles
and grieve in it;
but instead twirled with dragons
in a clever patchwork and
a rodeo in your bandwagon.
light killed you on a crucifix
auditioning to give your spirit a lift;
started it all when you were six.
rented a loft to store your tears
hide hair ribbons in nail holes
that have been dead for thirty years.
you wanted to release hammers between sets
but you were stuck making french fries in coffee shops
and you hadn't told your husband yet.
now the clock reads eight and you're on your knees,
praying to saint margaret,
begging her to cut your cheek.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
you asked for 15 minutes
to play with clear glass marbles
and grieve in it;
but instead twirled with dragons
in a clever patchwork and
a rodeo in your bandwagon.
light killed you on a crucifix
auditioning to give your spirit a lift;
started it all when you were six.
rented a loft to store your tears
hide hair ribbons in nail holes
that have been dead for thirty years.
you wanted to release hammers between sets
but you were stuck making french fries in coffee shops
and you hadn't told your husband yet.
now the clock reads eight and you're on your knees,
praying to saint margaret,
begging her to cut your cheek.
a poem based off of a few monologues featured in "talking with..." by jane martin.
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