The Book of Longing

I promise myself this moment,
The stained–glass murmur of angels, the crisp
Scent of fresh dreams
Turned like furrows in the mind,
The green and growing sorrow that lodges
Deep in the breast. I taste the memory of you
Like an oath on the tongue, like every song
Ever wept into the night.
Don’t look back, my love, don’t think
I’ve forgotten you, only I can’t speak your name
Without the syllables cutting my lips,
And the sound of your voice still echoes
In the hollow place where my heart once lived.
Keep it safe, love, until I call for it. Let it beat
Gently against your fingertips, let it bleed,
Let it bleed a little, and taste my tears
When you lick your palm clean.

Jennifer Crow

When she’s not writing poetry and fiction, Jennifer Crow blogs about the intersection of creativity and spirituality as the Unrepentant Scribbler. She’s learning to crochet, and has progressed past the stage where everything is a tangle of yarn and profanity. Her latest short story, “Cover Her Ghost in a Feathered Cape,” can be found in Hadley Rille Books’ new anthology, Ruins Excavation. She lives beside a waterfall in the wilds of western New York state.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment. You can register here.