These? These are my
suffering shoes,
heeled with hollow hope
scraped to shine with
sordid hands,
stained with yesterday's sin,
carefully curated cruelties
and so many more morbid miracles
my earnest child's eyes could
hardly withstand.
This? This is the
graveyard of
my grace and guilt,
garden of grand
and ineffectual gestures.
This is where half-remembered
gods worship their
own ruin.
©sweepingly
S