Melody
Often, like visiting the quietest chamber of some empty church / I turn out my pockets on a long winding walk
Often, like visiting the quietest chamber of some empty church,
I turn out my pockets on a long winding walk
And pretend I am seven again
Calling myself a witch in the forest
Laughing at how silly that is
And startling friends because
My body and soul are so close
You remember the days when
Your forehead sweat and dirty palms were all you knew
Crumpled dollars in an abandoned car lot
And the carcass of a wildcat in a cornfield
Its feral eyes fixed on a grimy patch of earth
Colors were like celebrities
They sang to you their warmth
And you cradled an entire sun inside your little chest
--Now packaged goods in a basement
Though your feet were never calloused quite
Enough, you say,
And sigh.