I. The Church Bells Are Ringing A sound like angels exhaling. God’s finger, thimbled, sewing prayers into our thoughts. I must be his great agitation, always folding my heart, and squandering my days. My dad once punched a tree. That was after I told him to never hit Mum again. She cried like a siren. I think of her whenever an ambulance rushes by with medics ready to save someone, unfold their heart, resuscitate honesty again.
II. The Unready I'm not ready for that long dream with its white walls, and confused words breathed behind a mirror. Where time spins like leaves, or feathers. I'm not ready for windows blocked with cold ashes of the moon, without a spill of sunlight, or to be departed by wind, or lying with trees because my finest hour is yet to be seen.
Written for Miz Quickly’s QNV2: Honesty and NaPoWriMo at Writers’ Digest “2-4-Tuesday “Ready and Unready“. Shared with #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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