she stood in a desperate wound

straw baskets are sown and sit by empty fireplaces
 
church preacher man writes a sunday sermon, wraps
it up in aluminum foil
 
his daughter, a beautiful thing, in love with a military
man, gets the, “we’re sorry to inform” letter
 
water from rusted pipes put in an aging kettle, set
on a stove, she waits for the slow boil
 
she watches from an old window frame, wild horses
gallop on wave edge salt
 
a wound would be required of her, morning comes in
a quiet corner of her solitude
 
leaves lie beneath her feet, she leans against bark
 
her father delivers his tedious speech, rice sits in 
brown bags impatient for a forgotten wedding
 
in a tucked away closet, a wool suit is besieged 
by moths
 
rain water wet drunkenly collects in oak, banded
barrels beneath corroded downspouts
 
she dips her silver cup in for a taste, bandages
wrapped to guise
 
her father reads letters marked personal, black
and white photos show 
 
colorless, insecure faces
 
plastic flowers planted in cemetery soil, watered
daily by her sightless eyes
 
tears absorbed by gauze bandage, changed daily,
tears changed daily
 
she is slowly dying, a congregation dies.
 
 
Copyright © 05/02/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
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