I watched him try to de-ice the car.
Behind him, I saw a broken bus shelter.
I sought it, for my own house was falling –
as quickly as the snow.
He was not looking at me
so quietly, I slipped past –
light upon my numb feet –
spirit, shifting, slightly
within my tatty soul.
The safety glass, a shimmering lake –
grey concrete shone with flickering highlights –
touched with warmest sunlight.
It is beautiful in its broken state –
I weep – because of the thought of its release;
In one angry fistful of fired up rage,
someone has made this a place for me.
I have only hot tears.
I stand, unclothed,
with tiny diamonds sparkling
between my toes.
No single image appears -
on my knees, I search with intent;
drop my cold face, hard
into the glassy earth which presses flesh grievously.
cry – that I may grow
wish – for spikes piercing my eyes, because I do not want to see
crave – for red tears, mingling within white and glinting surfaces
want – soft, pink, blossom, to open up inside.
I pray to God;
dissolve the glass –
and heal me.
Jenny Meehan copyright 2008
"Scraper" Charcoal Drawing by Jenny Meehan