You held that precious stone in your palm
worn naturally smooth by the ocean tides
and smothered it.

What happened to you
with your father?
Were his hands too cold
or not there at all?
Did you inherit those unfeeling hands?
You used them to touch her,
you bastard.
Did you put any thought into just how you held her?
Handled her roughly?
Or worse-
touched her sweetly and gently and safely
with care and devotion too lofty to last?
Did you feel her?
Enjoy her?
You numb little child?
You wreckless, pathetic and immature swine...

You never saw how happy she was
that night then in August
euphoric and glowing
the taste of your lips
on her pretty pink mouth

and you never saw her
dissolve.

You left prints on that stone
and you marred up the polish,
the glassy and picturesque sheen,
with your clumsy and naive hands...

you fumbled
and dropped her
back into
the sea.

06/25/2004

Author's Note: You are a baby boy. You were broken when she found you, or when you found her.... you Dont understand. It's like you engraved your initials on her. You can't change that state of perfection you found her in, because obviously, she's too strong to let you... but you changed the face of it. And eventually, because you dropped her back, the letters you put there will smooth away. Until then, she's living with you in the mirror.

Posted on 06/26/2004
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia