page ten

a black comma
at the end of a phrase
on a piece of paper
stuck in a mailbox
onto you will never pass your eyes
or engage your mind to read from.

a blue ribbon
poking out of a Bible
saturated with pious
hand oil
from years of arrogance
in the name of Jesus.

I am nauseated with a hunger.
I’ve set a place with knife,
fork and spoon,
iced water,
and a clean plate.
I wish that you would seat yourself at that
setting,
and talk to me.
as
I am not a commonality,
a narrow-minded, blind ignorant woman.
at times I’m unsure
of you,
as you are unsure
of me.
so, when I say I like words,
or that I love the sound of a train passing,
I mean it.
And I trust that you know this.