Isolating
       

Once, you were the sweetest child.
You kneeled whenever they told you.
For prayer. For men.

Now, you stand.
Now, you have nothing
but the clean whistle of your agony,

too high for the human ear.
Your flesh, bitten, to reveal the truth:
the tooth-chipping pit of you,

the quick rot of your softness.
Now, if any lonely body stumbles
upon yours, the wail of your hunger

will be their daily call to prayer.

Tweet
Copyright © 2022 Anne Champion All rights reserved
from River Styx
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission