The morning after

We searched until our feet ached and our necks could crane no longer
Over all the high places, just barely out of our reach under the summer heat
the bruises marring our knees remained our only secret, a mark that would fade with time
But the memory will always linger; brows wrinkled like sheets strung to dry in the sun when it manages to catch us offguard
In the blink of an eye dust coated finger tips appear
searching high and low
Over all the high places, just barely out of our reach
there was no desperation guiding our feet;
Footsteps in the dark, greeting each other
with a single beam of light,
we peeled the stars from the sky
sticking them in the back of our ripped dungarees under the watchfulness of the moon
Tucked in bed before sun down, innocent blades of grass still caused our palms to itch
The gaze in mother’s eye would become cloudy, and reminiscent
while she scrubbed furiously at the stains in our clothes
our heads hanging low
She has lost something as well, thrown in sighing retrospect
she sometimes regaled us with tales of her blissful youth
The lines creasing her face
were once smooth and slender, cloaked in naivety
She no longer searches;
for Mother knows that it will never be returned
desire is dried up in shriveled pools that are her eyes
baring her soul to all who have stopped to take a good look
and now…
We lie awake, crammed together and huddled under one bedspread
siphoning off each others warmth, thinking…as we cling to each other
and the thin rays from the rising sun sneak through the cracked blinds
we silently pray for tomorrow to wait a little longer





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