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by Angela Thomasthe words feel like they're lost. like i went to visit my grandmother
and forgot them on the nightstand right next to that slightly yellowed
plastic cordless telephone with the retractable antenna. when i write,
my hands feel fat - like little soft sausages trying to thread a needle
to sew together two pieces of brocade lace. my thoughts are deep
in my pillow - buried in strange dreams and my hand between my
thighs with your name softly rolling off on my lips. make a joyful noise
loud enough to wake up your soul. rip off your pretenses, bandages
covering wounds that have long since been opened. raise your arms
to the sun and fall backwards into a long free fall. catch me. don't
let my feet touch the ground without the words to tell you the things
that are in my heart. in the song that i am going to sing. the sound
that will ring out in a quiet room. and from your lips she drew that
hallelujah. i trip over my own words. i tumble. i hurt. i scream. it ends. 09/18/2007 Posted on 09/19/2007
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
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