Stained-Glass Girl

you should be an image in stained-glass windows 

the same ones you trace with your eyes every sunday 

while hymns echo in your ears, words 

you've known so long you forget the meaning. 

or you belong in a portrait 

hung beside a cross, bathed in darkness – 

a girl of tragic beauty, people would think, 

not knowing how 

the sun catches your golden wisps 

of hair when you tilt your head back laughing, turning them 

to spun silk. don't tell me you're not pure, because 

it's the meaning of your name, because 

if you're not pure, what am i? 

i want religion, so sometimes i pretend i have it 

when i talk to you on sunny days pinched by cold, and wonder at how 

your voice sounds like church bells. 

tell me a new hour has begun, and let the light 

turn your chipped nail polish 

to stained glass. 

star

NH

15 years old

More by star

  • january 24th, 2010

    her voice sounded heavy to her, filled

    with the unnamed emotion

    everyone had told her to expect. except

    she hadn't. she'd rolled

    her eyes at the shiny pamphlets and blog posts

  • Dew-drop

    In a dew-drop a little world exists

    A place turned blue and silver by the light

    That lingers well beyond the morning mist.

    In a dew-drop a little world exists

  • Good Morning

    Good morning, sunlight like syrup

    Touching every dew-streaked blade

    Of grass and puddle of drying mud.

    Good morning, air that smells of spring,

    Air that sounds