Reid@YWP

Intricately designed silverware sat at a long table

Carefully placed next to ornate porcelain china 

Silver goblets so shiny you could use them as a silvery mirror

I dream of him less than I used to – 

But our story always starts the same. 

I am small, and his oil-stained hands hold me like the Red Clover, 

So tightly that I think he’ll never let me go. 

I wonder what heaven looks like. I wonder this as an atheist. Is it space, sailing among stars? Is it merely a concept, eternally to be determined, determined by fate?

The day you decide to stop looking in the mirror

Your Body

Like punctuation 

Stopping you in your tracks 

Puzzle Piecing your mouth shut 

He who sees without eyes,

he who’s earth and yet flies,

he who lives and yet dies,

who is he?

He who speaks without thought,

he whose theft is uncaught,

he who’s desperately sought,