Where light touches you
I see every little crack in your lips,
and every tiny hair on the side of your face
I see every single cell of skin,
and the empty space between them:
the cracks that you seep through
I see the columns of shadow along your eyelids cast by your lashes,
and where tears slide down your temples and into your hair,
I see the little shining copies;
the little crystal streaks
Where light touches you,
yourself is set not in shadow,
but in gold.
When I was a little younger than I am now,
I went home after school and wrote until bedtime.
That was enough to take me into the stratosphere.
I'd play in the cloud for hours and hours.
I will tell you what I remember from high school, and I will tell you how you can follow in my sinful and lowly footsteps, that your blood might be as holy as mine.
I first began in the business of selling people when I sold a strange man in Jerusalem that I did not like for thirty silver pieces. Swaths of people flocked after him down into the precipice of the market.
Comments
There's a gentleness and sensitivity to this piece that give me tender feels. Somehow, you've made crying tragically beautiful. This poem feels like an expression of pure love and acceptance.
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