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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