Pagoda Isaac
is almost red, almost maroon
p e e l i n g paint,
moths swarming the faint light bulb
choking the air.
My tears come so fast
It’s hard to breathe,
mascara like black veins
melting on my cheeks.
I’m huddled in the corner
hands and lips quaking.
Willow trees swish
behind me
their leafy fingers moonlit and pale,
the lake is still
and everything is beautiful.
I sob,
trying to (muffle) the sound
by clenching my jaw.
The crickets stop whirring
to hear me break.
the night is star-studded
diamonds on ebony velvet,
the moon a child
soft and slight.
What miracles I have seen
as I choke on
saltwater,
my keening like a prayer.
Darkness so sharp and perfect
my pain does not belong.
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