Disjointed, she stumbles.
The meaning lost in the cracks you've made,
Everflashing but nevernearerthan this.
Always out of r e a c h.
(reach for it . . .reach for me . . .)
Words are little when caught in her thought, her throat,
Choked with uncertainty, pride.
Hold her closer; she’ll whisper what she can,
Walking alwayscareful along the flotsam of her walls.
Stumble with her, handinhand,
And she’ll tell you just how much you mean
To me.

05/30/2003

Author's Note: Meh. Everything I've written lately sounds of this, and not really felt as though anything's worth posting. Meh indeed.

Posted on 05/31/2003
Copyright © 2025 Megan Harvey