Grind Down

byKikahCornelius©

I paid almost fifty cents to send the letter today. Just the facts, miss so the words don't eek desperation but sir, that is what I am. After what happened and the words you said, I figure even if those bound feet have moved on, you'd like to know what became of me. Swirling in a single spot like and endless toilet spin of blue and white. We don't even have scrubbers enough here to grind down the caked on bits. Thought about a sander for my fingertips but I will still know who these hands belonged to. I'm selling me for parts. The complete package hasn't worked in some time. But the hips and middle still come alive. The face. No smile. Dead on stare. Bursting with hope still for some more of that magic. I picked off your feathers one by one. Used a paint scraper for the tar and plucked the black mess from your eyebrows. Boiled it all down, bathed in and wore it just to be closer to you. I keep being gifted feathers from the sky here and there. I catch those in my hands. I can lift them just so far up in this outfit.

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byKikahCornelius© 0 comments/ 227 views/ 0 favorites

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