i left my clumsy calculated footprints
in the gray mold of your baby book.
took the hands of your adults as we crossed
the coiling streets.

we drank the grape juice blood of christ
and i touched your rosary when you
looked away. this is the place where
you hide behind eyes.

pulling into gravel and willows,
our mothers and childhoods melted
together, the miles faded into
chain link fences.

i felt a shameful exhilaration meeting
your eyes in stills. confronting a face
that does not know me, will not see me
in some future.

you came to me in the quiet, stumbling
onto ripped knees. lifting the blanket
and sheets to make these prayers.
i let you crawl into bed.

at the sunset, i saw the flashes of lightning
bugs. tiny explosions shaking me
into a sensible submission, stilled
in the phantom of your gaze.

08/12/2007

Author's Note: edited 6/12/08.

Posted on 08/13/2007
Copyright © 2025 Meghan Helmich