Sunday, September 30, 2007
"Utopia"
My mind constructs
the perfect shoulder
to cry on,
broad and strong
with collarbone sharp
as a blade running up
through the soft cotton
of his imaginary
blue shirt.
His neck lean
and muscular
with the propensity
to hide a face
streamed with tears,
soft sobs absorbed
into the skin as
their salts mingle.
The warmth of his arms
encircles me,
heavy and anchoring
so I cannot float away
into the gray sky
like a child’s balloon
that has slipped
from a tender wrist
unknowingly.
And in this grip
I understand just how full
my shell has become
with the collection
of useless words and
ambitions, dreams
unapproved by
his majesty, so
I agree to carry it still
despite the murmuring
in my ear, this imaginaries
voice, whispering truths
about the weight a hurt
mother puts on the minds
of us all.
Aleathia Drehmer 2007
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