I was born to usher daylight
through the crackle of color;
A liquid prism of oil on water,
folding on itself like pages of scripture
to my submissive white face,
stretched out tight
like a bride’s netted lace
or mother’s dining room table cloth
before the ritual bruising
of purple beets and pink elbows,
as we all hid our grass stains
beneath the ivory scent
of prayer shaped hands.

The longer I remain here,
the more memories I try to revive,
and the more moments I dwell upon;
Photos and hand written notes
push pinned and stapled high
on the arching totem of my backbone;
Like a police detective who solved every case,
but always wonders
if he ever
even one conviction

written on 05/24/2010 by: Matt Kane