The Walk

     Share this meandering alleyway with me, where the crow watches from a carved gate with his black eyes. I did not know he had russet feathers beneath his coal-black wings, just as I did not know there were flecks of topaz in your down-cast eyes. Take my hand and lead me in your imagination. On this uneven path of cracking concrete I still cannot bear your tears behind closed doors. Keeping it to yourself keeps me in the dark. Let's stop so you can spoon pieces of mango into my mouth like a baby bird. I open up to you waiting to be fed, to drink your breath which tastes like Jamaican rum. I am drunk on you and have to hang on for dear life. Such loads my back can carry. Such heaviness can bring you to your knees, and they are already swollen. I see the trinkets, the sweet gifts left in the gaudy shrine. The candle is lit but the wax has pooled in the plastic saucer. I stare into your face and I feel my cheeks grow hot when I see the shared laughter and the light in your eyes. I want to be in your movie but not as an extra. These gifts we give wrapped in heart-paper; my offerings on the altar of love. If only you could share.  

The copyright of this post belongs to Claudia Anne    Kerala  Nov. 2/15