Sometimes You
Speak to me
By making me
Recite prayers in the dark
Don’t You?
When beliefs that were breastfed and nurtured are suddenly
Up against a wall
Tethered down
Facing a firing squad
All dressed up in your clothes
Sometimes You
Play the killer
And as soon as I die
You become the mother
Expelling me from your flesh
I know you are laughing–
While nauseated,
I supplicate in this fetal position
And weep and moan
I know you are watching, amused
As I exorcise this most certain goodbye
I imagine things must look a bit different
In the Awakened Land where nothing gives rise
I may not be particularly lucid in this moment
However, I am acquainted with your manner–
Your lack of introductions
And your brisk departures
As you head toward the door
Tip toeing over my bloody mess
You turn, look at me, smile and say,
“Be sure to open a window. It’s time too let in the wind and the light.”
