Ugly Saturdays

Tabbing through the events. Mortified by their interpretations. They're my words. Not yours. I am not your wishing well. Save your pennies. I have not that cheek that sculpts a tear from shaky thoughts. Lives read like fairy tales to tired children.

So certain of my shortcomings and nothing else. The batter in the cage frozen by the pitch. Wrong. Right. I'd never considered them.

As I explained to myself what I wanted. Drawing those sheets back from that cold. cold bed. Finding shadows everywhere. Searching ghosts for clues to where those friends had gone.

Stencils in the dark waiting for a steady hand. Lies smoldering with the truths they conceal. Daggers cutting through leather skeletons.

There I found myself

Determined as I ever was
to hear, despite my deafness

I'm at my best, at the peak
of my limitations.

Ugly Saturdays become
Sundays dressed and poorly hemmed
by the days between