you taught me so much
I miss you dearly
With love
-your granddaughter
Sunday not of this world
in
Sunday Dress
I sit by you
behind your chair
it started snowing
again
Sun, you say
I rest my ear against your shoulder
Sun, but not of this world
we have red shoes on
and offer eachother skin
in the waffle mist
during
Sunday Psalm
I lie by you
listening to
white rubber soles
outside your room
where someone died
so close
that we could hear them
passing through
(whispering We can wait here We got time)
the
Sunday of Forgiveness
you rub the cross against me
then the star
lovingly
with unfamiliar language
against my forhead
then lips
kissing the lullaby
warm in my scalp
closing fingers
around the palm cavity
that lets the light in
on
the Sunday of Departure
they bathe you
folding you out
on white surfaces
scrubbing the chestbone
that tears the night
you
lay your face deserted
against hands
collecting the shadow
that froze
in the aftershocks
from a revealed
lie
Poetry by Lourdes
Read 1556 times
Written on 2006-04-27 at 23:24
Tags Cavity Psalm Lie
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