Crossed Bones

Photo by Junior Libby
by Christy Bailes

My drywall ears shook
from French mumblings,
like a Mass without God,
continuing until her lips
tasted coffee with hidden
crumblings that replaced
church talk with asylum

laughter, so long, I bore
a cross in my texture,
waiting for God to shake
religion on her head, but
the head popped right out
my window, spilling the
devil on white lawn.

They crazy, they crawl
up the walls, she shouted
out my soul until they
came and packaged
her up onto a slab
with horse straps,
carrying her down my long legs.

Category: Poetry, SNHU Student