Late

The creaking hallway, 

tipsy pictures on the wall.

The empty call-way, 

un-plugged phone cord next to the doll.

“Hello” she whispered; 

the clock beat the line.

She listened to the injured,

the deep breathes soaked with wine.

The little girl,

rewinding her act.

“The world is making me twirl.”

spoken until her voice cracked.

Confidence is key,

The drop trickles down.

Prowling around the black sea.

The water covers the crown.

The line is life,

“Mama take my apology.”

The drop is the knife,

“give me more of your theology.”