If I Believed in the Cross

Poem a day #15 is a response to prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a “middle” poem and 2) write a poem inspired by a stamp.

Between what’s real and what’s magical
I would never be cross. Instead I would

hold a cross in rapture to capture all:
The creak of a not-oiled cabinet hinge

the rustle of tall black-screen curtains
that caress my bare scapula like ice

I cannot taste due to the rusty smell
of wind, the fire that’s made me deaf.

All I see remains to me unthinkable.
The clouds will descend and sweep me

up like a gentler tornado still weeping
for those who cannot fly, those stuck

in the rubble of their shaken up lives.
A single photograph holds all memory

what’s left to share with the truck driver
who traveled to the all-night emergency

room too many times, but still not enough
to forget the vacant eyes, a rescued child.