Wherein poet Deva Haney writes and rambles until she shambles off the beaten page and gets lost.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
it's not easy to carry around invisible scars they're too heavy and translucent they don't get you anywhere all the effort is your own and every bit of it costly
sometimes I stand in the shower and imagine a long line drawn down the side of me pale and puckered unattractive something significant, obvious something anyone could see if I were wearing a bathing suit
it always makes me smile seems light as floating ashes, that long line which must have cut so deeply taken so very long to close over anyone could see that
the line's there, i can feel it run my hands over it like a worry doll like chalking a headstone but I have to forcibly call it into being call it by name for anyone else to notice
and if I don't they'll never know what weighted unseen burdens force me to stoop my shoulders and tip my head forward twitch my mouth a little as I stand in line at the bank,
just one more woman with a basket on her head ghosts of a troubled past spilling over the side weaving around her like traffic