Out Of Reach

You say it’s dangerous
you say it’s too risky to be alone
            it is winter
 
I lay in a field
in the frost      the bridge across from me
 
my hand on my chest             
my skin is hot
(like desert sand)
 
I am not sick

I close my eyes
and can hear the lady, whistling
on the park bench,smell
the breeze, the fiery wood
 
I picture the crack in your ceiling
electric-blue light on your desk
 
I place a hand in my pocket
grab a loose thread
twist it between my fingers until it burns 
like the tip of a recently extinguished match
 
I unravel
 
silent as stone             eyes open
I whisper your name 
 
beneath the crest – 
ink-faded         red dusk  
 
I listen
 
 Published January 3rd, 2019 by Women Around Town