Aiskhulos

I think of you often
I think it haunts me what I've done
Many times I've begun to write to you
Thoughts of your grief pester my heart,
The words I wish to tell itch in my mind
But the fear keeps my hands from writing

Not one blot of ink leaves my pen,
Not one word could make it to you.
The ghosts of your questions linger here
You faced apparitions of me and
waited for letters that ended with my name,
those letters that never came

My heart could fast be destroyed
in so simple as one delicate stroke
Your hand was much too hard
brute elegance left me scattered
I became as an apparition
I hid my heart in terror of your voice

Those letters that wrote themselves inside
always were quick to burn themselves
My apology may never reach you,
My letter will never make it to your hands
I still find myself too terrified of you
of what you'd do...

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011