She wore her scars to show

she was a soldier,

a soldier used to knives;

the beatings that she bore

were bundled deep inside

Something had convinced her :

the universe was nameless,

she was cursed from birth

with constant need for meaning

ratified in sleep where phantom

figures made her understand,

God often spoke in strangers voices

hid behind their sleight of hand.

 

Her high heeled misdemeanours

broke the tension of existence,

a will to shine so bright the tears

could never be counted,

she courted city streets,

befriended urban outcasts

listened to other peoples families

carefully repressing swell of tidal grief

It was only in third person

she could talk about these things

listen to the moaning of police sirens,

the shriek of three year old from

paper thin communicating walls,

hug her own children to her chest

in order to forget,

 

she remembered.