Time can't heal all wounds

I guess I'd sing to you now, if I could.

I'd sing to you like pine cones sing to the wind just before they hit the ground.
I'd sing to you like all my empty note book pages sing to me.

I'd sing to you like fire escape ladders sing to offbeat teenage girls, on Thursday nights.

I guess I'd grow for you now. Darling. Because all this pain has rooted my roots deeper and the blood from my veins keeps our soil moist.

If my tired bones keep reaching for the heavens at least we can hold out hope that there is one.

I guess if my stick stem arms can keep mangling themselves for the sunlight so can my heart.

I guess I would, if I could.

The weight of water.

Rain fell from the computer screen.
The backdoor didn't slam and the milk stayed on the fridge shelf.
White noise plays,
on every station in my heart.

My desk chair is lonely. It's white washed bones call out to me.

Run.
Run home.



They all close their eyes and turn their cheeks.

But the blood from the bathtub is bound to overflow.