darling: poems by colleen cosette goodman

It is All in the Hands of God

I keep trying to wrestle my way under
The entryway,
To drink the blood of your throats slashed
Beautiful and red
So long I've watched from the corner,
Listening to stomping boots and girls' hair swishing,
Someone opens her hand and there is always someone to take it
Each time I try to crawl out I get my fingers stomped
Crunch and smash in the black light
Eventually I will go home to nurse my bloody hand
And wonder why I can never hear the sound of my own hair