i know what you are doing but i don’t know why
i am not that clever

we are like clay
and the marks i etched with my fingernail
coding messages to you in forms

i sometimes don’t know how to talk to you

the raised edges between the lines
are crying desperately out to you

you’ve hurt me, you’ve hurt me a million years

the pottery sits dusty on the shelf
in a language no one remembers how to read
the hardened mud won’t move in my fingers
i am left with a handful of dust.


About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

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