My Girl Sits With Her Eyes to the Sea
My girl sits with her eyes to the sea,
At the window of the house that she shares with me,
She plays with her wings,
And quietly sings,
In a language I’ve studied but can’t understand.
My girl waits every day for a train,
Burnt under sun or drowned in the rain,
She arms her regrets,
Charging each empty threat,
The sound lost in the roar of each connection she misses.
My girl has dreams of hospital beds,
Lined with the stationed and static dead,
They bind her wings,
In sutures and slings,
And sing her songs from TV commercials.
My girl drives for hours each day,
‘Cross mountains and rivers through counties and states,
She shakes off her rust,
From dawn until dusk,
As I watch shadows fall across the phone on the wall.
My girl stands with her eyes to the sea,
In the rubble of the house that she shared with me,
She hands me her things,
And opens her wings,
To finish the story she left in the sky.
