your hands are
s
h
a
k
i
n
g
tonight and my skin is aflame with icicle pricks of rage.
another fight with your father, the man i won't meet because....
because...
he still won't meet me? i ask. your hands are still sh
ak
ing
but your voice is steady as you explain.
"no.
because he's part of this thing...-
cultlike religion...-
so you're..-
...not christian-
-said enough ....
to be disowned...-
-...not someone to save-
-...up to me."
(your hands shook, brittle leaves and battering wind)
YOU ARE READING
Saudade
PoetryHIGHEST in poetry #155 (n)- a nostalgic longing to be near again to someone or something that is distant, something that has been loved and then lost. (there was a boy once) ((i knew him)) COPYRIGHT ALL RIGHTS RESERVED AS PART OF THE WATT...
