Sunday, 30 August 2015

(so i write this letter) shaking salt at eggs on sunday

IF i could take your demons from you and battle them myself this day would be worthwhile, you see, it closes in on me and i don't know what to do inside my head inside my home shaking pepper on my eggs at the break of dawn on sunday. i could go to church but what difference would it make. i would rather go to see you and be with you. you won't criticize my hair or clothes behind my back. or in my face. we could laugh and talk about our boyfriends or our mothers over coffee. we used to go to the thrift stores together, remember? now i walk alone and ride the subways of my mind. my demons are okay they are not upset or acting out; even in the tunnels they sit still and quiet, hands folded, listening to the rails and feeling the side to side sway rock us into a new day. that's why i could battle yours if you would let me. the full moon fell out the window and the light is percolating and i don't know what to do inside my head inside my home shaking salt on my eggs on a sunday. so i write this letter and wait patiently for my chances. to meet someone new or be with you or you or you again, one of many long lost friends.