Feeling fractured, not quite full

(A praised day found)


Please forgive me for the song
that loops around us now,
this quiet separation

We raise
our tiny voices
to the sky –
doodler of dragons,
an unsolvable equation
of puberty and pain,
lost marbles in onion
-skinned silence.

I’ll tell you a secret:
We are warriors in waiting,
tired of sprawling loose and long
in this bright sky. We have been here
for hours and hours.
most of them black as night,
reveling in the glory (of)

We know we are
stained glass. A glint of sun. A moonlit gasp,
too really loud, too much
for my unquiet heart.

But here’s a hint
(a further protest of the dark,
with all the pomp and circumstance):
…………………….it’s nothing new.

We’re still here
just waiting for the stars to fall,
hungry for that unrepentant moon
and her jagged smile. (She
makes a pass
and paints us flush,
blush rub
-bled toxic skin).

I think it might be my fault;
I can’t erase these words,
so burn this before they find us.
(And please, forgive my salt.)

Midnight, and we’re still here
in the privacy of our own
………..(shaking, sturdy)
raised palms,
with nothing left but dust.
(Five, six, pick up sticks. Walk
soft, be still.) He loves me
…………..(loves me not).  

Soon, we shall banshee
our un
-forgiven hearts,

…………………………tiny poems.


In November, we poem. Today’s prompt calls for a remix. This is a cento made up of one line from a poem from each day this month. It also still nods to all the prompts. 




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