Panties on the clothesline are as close as I get,
unlike the pins whispering softly,
Don’t leave us here alone.
How did they become more faithful than me,
loyal to the act of not letting go,
sad when the sky starts to weep?
Three white lines of rope and devotion
tether you to this world.
This is where you pray and mourn,
where you keep us pure like a young Amish girl.
Is this how you learned the soul unravels
in a thousand rinses and spins, how in
the act of coming clean, some things never do?
The mountains in the distance fence you in
like a lamb eating grass made of shadow.
Pain is chewed and swallowed fast,
struggling to turn the grit into glory,
as if you’d become a lion.
You never roared to scare your enemy
into giving up hope of escape.
The only jungle you ever dared has the same name as me.
Photo Three to Hang By by Alan Levine used under Creative Commons License (BY-2.0)
