Gods and Candles
Teacup stars pour light
from
glitter spoons
into
my eyes searching
inky
night for answered prayers.
I
straddle the edge between
sapphire
and sunrise
with
outstretched arms,
hands
begging for a god
to
lift me out of the curse of questions.
Tethered
to the constraints of why
I
pace a thistle field of “what ifs”
chanting
I’m sorry as if shadows
could
bring absolution.
Searching
is mortality’s friend and foe.
If
there is light in a distant tomorrow,
I
must trust and not chase it with a match.
©Susie Clevenger 2022
Grief doesn't have to make sense. I feel fine one moment and the next I'm begging the door to open to see Dawn walk through it.
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