She lived as if the entire world
revolved around her moods
each turn met by a calculated counter-turn
every smile a careful balance
between revelation
and secrecy
She loved as if we were
all to blame
as if every tender word left
a wound
visible as a line on her face
and each morning she'd recount them
while we stood
rigid mirrors reflecting her lost youth
She spoke as if speaking
were a cliff and she could fall
and keep falling for miles
before crumbing at the bottom
of the chasm of her making
wrinkled as a raisin
in the harsh light of the sun
She spoke as if she never
learned the words
for forgiveness, love, or sorrow
as if they were foreign tastes
too bitter or sweet
for her sharp tongue
Once, in my weakness
I cried for her to hold me
and her contemptuous eyes
brought the world crashing down
I willed her sing to me
shelter me
save me
but her arms were wooden drum stick
tapping my back
in dispassionate parodies of song
©
