Hushed Metaphor

By Kelly Grace Thomas  


There is a piece of me that has been rubbed raw by the earth

the sea salt that has seasoned theses hands of wondering,

splintered with expectation

of a wild confession flight I fear will never arrive.

So I save my breath, and build monuments of curiosity.

Try to remember the taste of a night

that holds you so close against what you have asked for.

There are parts of myself that have been entirely erased. 

High speed chase to piece the pieces

the measure of moments, like the emptying of a glass

in a room where candlelight echoes the time.

Let the fingertips talk of rose petal revelations.

I want to say I am strong enough and mean it.