Sunday, April 20, 2014

IN MY HANDS

by Christine Fojas

I am climbing a wall
grasping grass and rock
that comes apart in my hands;
I've been here before,

and thudding in my ear
like another heart
is this fear of falling.
I used to be full of words.

Now all I have in my hands
are precarious levers
and rusty nails that hold
me together. Do not ask me how I am--

I am a broken device.
No answer will suffice.

---
an attempt at a sonnet and an attempt at getting into the mind of someone I love.

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