Tuesday, June 8, 2010

St. William of York

the scars on my knees are

bridges back to our summer

at the lake

where we’d wave

to the 7 pm train conductors

from our innertubes,

forget to fasten

our bathing suit tops

before doing so.

he told me I was nothing

but a ghost on the stairs,

that my sadness was the same

as every teenage girl’s sadness.

I drove from lake to lake

discovering the darkness in myself.

the grapes withered on the vines

and I kept driving.

No comments:

Post a Comment