Here

March 19, 2018

There is a girl here/

She spends hours looking out windows/

tracing swirls on her skin with a finger/

Sometimes I think she's imagining freedom/

mostly I imagine she's thinking nothing at all/

Everyone here is broken/

but while we still exchange false smiles/

she hasn't said a word for months/

If you try to speak to her/

her eyes will slowly drift from the window to yours/

and she will look as if she can see every one/

of her sorrows in your eyes/

We aren't allowed sharp things here/

but if you look closely you might see/

how sometimes her swirling finger/

digs in just a little too deep/

The night before I was finally supposed to leave here/

I woke up to the sound of shuttering sobs, "What's wrong?"/

I ask the dark trembling creature curled up on the bed/

"It hurts," she whispered. "What hurts?"/

Between gasps, her face contorted in pain, she forced out,/

"Being alive."/

(I stroked her wet face, brushing away the tears/

I brushed back her damp hair, kissed her soft, red cheek/

I paused to breathed in her air and kissed her salty lips/

Finally, I took a pillow and held it down gently but firmly/

Her trembling hand reached up and grabbed mine/

her thumb stroked mine slowly, affectionately/

Until it stopped)

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