Quasimodo

 

 

Quasimodo

 

I remember the way I walked on that strand.

Semi-formed and alarmed,

Alone,

burning,

and hollow,

the overwhelming sense

of being not-quite-there.

 

Rooted in rootless wanderings,

when each step leads

to father’s jagged stone or

mother’s piercing shard,

it’s best to be careful,

above all,

not to expect a thing.

How the Light Gets Through

Advertisements

One thought on “Quasimodo

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s