crisscross

Every word, every phrase, 
Every comment, every praise
Every single quiet trace of my pen.
Letters bleed out, arranging themselves on the page,
My mind has left with it.
Writing comes to me.

An echoing voice
calls over the scratchy bare bark earth
a dystopia of loneliness 
and straw hair
Plum tragedy and wavered voices 
cry over the lost
blank stares and crumpled pages fill these 
days

A painted lilac toe, dips into crystal water, rippling 
Satin and gauze spiral over waves. 
Her back arched, her future is a utopia of lustful dances. 
Slowly rising, dancing utop the storm.

I have never been so eager for January,
the piercing wind whipping windows,
and happiness frozen off,
but at least 2021.

A hellish year, waving goodbye.
It excites me.
For 12 to strike on December 31

candles melt, I am running out of time

the husky rolling of R's in the only two prayers I know.

no torah reading, no smiling grandparents. 

How do i identify as something so close to me,