i see the fist freckles he dots on her face,
when she shows at the door.
she comes in rambling on
her forgotten lay-away, split-ends,
chipped polish on bitten nails
i end up holding her in damp clothes
near the dark shower. i stroke the water
from her eyes and whisper, “i’m here.”
she seems to wander through a ghost town,
as she stays to hide the black and blue
shadowing brown eyes. i plead for her
to push aside the barbed wired tumbleweed
reaching out,
yet she vanishes to cool gun smoke.
i reply in her spreading mist, “cradle your hum.
you shouldn’t have need to run from him to me.”
she holds fast
to the bullet casings
she wears around her neck,
as she hums her world is winding down
to begin. she wants to see
and touch the skin of life beyond
the shadow’s mend.
