he put his gentle hands on my body
and touched where i had been burned
all those months ago, days piled like bricks,
building a house so fragile a yawn would collapse it.
and so i yawned every morning and yawned every night,
hoping these days would break on me.
and they did,
destroyed all the bones in my feet, until i couldn't stand
up straight
until i couldn't stand it.
i'll rebuild my house this time, on a hill next to the ocean
with a basement so wide and deep it'll reach around the earth
and back again.
then in the grey weather, in my beautiful house, he'll touch me again where i had been burned.
i won't flinch,
singing softly the words "my life is not a tragedy".
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