Solitude
And no one has been in this garden here
No other footprints shaped by sleeping grass
No one knows this place
And I, in this dress, silk turban wrapped
---I have my fine cloth crown
and sun
No one knows the burn behind my eyes
right before I write
the round black shallow grave pressed against my chest
No man has loved me
none at all
I have all these;
the sun, the grass, and the leaves
but it is only me here in this pretty
and when solitude reminds us of tragedy
I remember how blades of grass can cut
the sun can burn
and leaves make us slip
I learn to put the lines in your hands on a throne
the deep must of exasperation, the missing length
on the frame of your body
is better, I know
My God, I'm jumping, dodging daggers
I need to find home
Rest my head in the places you've wept
This is me knocking against the breadth
of our separation
I write no more in your memorial, but in mine
I have only the swords of grass to pass the time
Copyright ©
Te Indi | Year Posted 2012
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