April 2008

never taught to speak
she sits and listens
to the thoughts that dance and chatter,
chatter slow and quick then slow,
keeping time with weary daylight,
drifting softly through her hands

never taught to speak,
she waits and wonders
if she’s better,
wanting always to be better,
coughing worried little wishes
at a star that doesn’t dream.

never taught to stay,
she grasps and clamors at the walls that seem like windows,
at the windows more like doors
searching endlessly for
something
more like
safe
and more like
home

(though she knows she isn’t good enough for home)

never taught to love,
she wonders how her empty hands compare
to those who carried rubies, even diamonds in their pockets
next to envelopes stuffed
full of afternoons, both sweet and light.

she has only mornings……

….

…….she has only nights.

never taught to speak,
she sits and listens
to the moments as they tip-toe,
ever pacing,
‘cross a newly tiled soul,
wishing sometimes for a something
more like
safe
and more like
home

(though she knows she never learned to be at home)

never taught
and never open,
she is quiet as she sits....


....and sits....


and....sits....

(knowing always she's not good enough for home)