Monday, September 19, 2016

Frozen River

You were the rusted hand of God,
but more gentle. More honest.

It was a different year.

Another war.

We were married, but not to each
other, and the storm was always
approaching. The list of the dead
was always growing. The woman
at my door wouldn't stop crying.

And did we ever really believe we
were holy? Did we wake up in
each other's arms while the house
burned down around us?

It seems like I've forgotten the
things that mattered.

It seems like my children had

Were beautiful.

Would end up being the only
things that could save me.

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