cross stitch
eyes,
a grin sewn into
quilt hem,
past held together with
old thread
draped over a
haunted
bed.
shadow play
like scratched out
graffiti–
i cant quite decipher
message,
though i make
out random
edges
when eyes strain
just right.
when i grow
up..
will you show
up
with same
flair
as throughout
tantrums
and screams into
pillows,
now just a breeze through
the willows.
i love you
for not mirroring me,
but don’t know
who to
be..
when we don’t look each
other in the
eye–
when we don’t
even
try.
in a half woken
state
i sense the room
shake
and know you’re back
for after hour
games,
so we play one
or two,
but you never
lose
and have yet to reveal
your name.
not waiting for
the ghost..
to ask if she
forgives
me
for any thought
i can’t
hide
when she finds her
way inside.
don’t know how
to talk with
people,
the pressure to feel
beautiful
every moment of
every day..
invading my own
thoughts
in same grave
ways–
only to get
caught.
starlight’s
golden path
guides us here
to now,
though i’m not
sure how
we found each
other
through the smoke
of our own
fires.
like a door
opened
slow-
the light cracks
just slightly,
a breeze enters
briskly,
the fear sets in
quickly-
so tempting to
close.
with cracked hands
all over my
years–
i shiver just
enough
to remind me i’ve
been touched.
hands in the garden 
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