VIII

Meadow,

I want to scream into the void again.

Make me slam every door I have left ajar. Suck the ache from my organs. Hold my hands. Dip them in gold. Make blood pacts with me in the backyard. Come to me, tender and teary. Pull my eyes, make them twitch. Plant meaning in the corners of my mouth. Part the sea. Bring me home. Take me out. Let me in. Brush my hair. Dissolve every thought I have had of another. Find God, prove it to me. Bring me flowers. Teach me. Wait for me. Meet my Father. Know me, love me anyway.

Yours, Dorothea