a means of escape
...and here.. and here. (she points, timid)
These are the spaces left to me.
If I began to fill them up I know that it would only pour back through;
And anyways I’ve never needed to be full.
When I was young I rolled a pill bug between my fingers,
pressing firm against it's small smooth shell
until it crushed
a little.. and then, crying I hid my destruction in the grass.
Green, the sea of blades, it’s final sight.
Later I’d lay my head there too and lose all thoughts in the sway.
A woman now, at night sometimes in the afterglow of passion
I press against my own flesh,
squeeze as if to self destruct,
and feel the smooth slide of hot tears as they find their way down to rest
.. on green pillowcases.
Ashley Maichetti Porter