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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