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Are you okay?

agilely avoiding
eye contact
shuttering pieces of herself
so deep
that sometimes she
couldn’t find them
she evaded direct answers
to the question
with the skill
of a contortionist
past
present
future selves
hung on threads
of hope
and equal parts
terror
wondering whether the reception
to a full confession
would become her salvation
a weapon used
against her
finally damning her
to hell
never a simple answer
to the question
truth was a tangled rope
as thick as her wrist
studded with thorns
shards of broken mirror
pearls
sprigs of fragrant salvia
slippery with blood
and memory
 
© 2017 Revised 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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