Thursday, August 22, 2013


I am a curly haired boy
He has straight hair that the wind loves to comb thru

I am stout
He’s not overweight
Like the porridge Goldilocks engorged

I know it
 I do
You like the boy
I saw it
I watched
                                But not too long
Just enough to see

the way you gaze at his fresh young body,
his youth
                That I once had, the one I rid myself of to fit your circle

You touch him a bit too long
You look at him a bit too earnest
And it’s fine, I’m fine

Fine: an old linen aging, browning, and turning in to rag
                                                At the slightest useful
Fine: a wall thawing from winter’s cloak, cracking silently, unnoticeably
                                                Still stable

I’m fine

I just wait and sigh, wait and sigh

wait and sigh

From the trenches of a cliff inside my chest,

I exhaled,
It echoed perhaps prayed,

                                   “He’ll come home with me”