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the illusion
by Angela Thomasi want to tell you i'm sorry. i want to watch the film in reverse. the part
where i pull my words from my mouth like a magician pulls a colorful
string from between his lips. much to the amazement of the young
children around him. i want to dazzle you again. i want to be stared
at like i'm fascinating. a seventy year old man on a park bench feeding
the birds. i want to eat your crumbs. hop, hop. i want to feel my hands
again. im sick of this icebox. sick of these hands like i forgot my gloves
on january 14th waiting for the bus and my coat has no pockets. no warmth
for my cold hands. i want to run to your house again, like that one night
filled with the asprin taste in the back of my mouth, my shaking hands,
the glass of water i poured for myself and left on the edge of your sink
in the morning when i crept out to meet the dawn at the a train downtown.
i want to lay in a bed that is filled with hope, sunbeams on the ceiling, not
foreign sounds in the dark. i want to feel the earth again. i want to feel again. 03/28/2007 Posted on 03/29/2007
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
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