unsacred

forgive me but there are some days
in which the gods can't touch
my poems.
i hope you can understand my indignity
as you wash my head.

i am short of breath
and it is only august.
maybe i am not prepared to be wednesday.

i wish i had answers in my drawers
and leaves in my trees.
my calendar is dizzy and winter is here
to stay.

it would be nice if life could release me
before september arrives,
but i didn't write that prophecy
or the new rules.

(i know i was wild.
i know my sweat was sacred
you don't have to remind me about my insanity)

it is so dangerous to live when
you don't know why you are living.
i am not awake enough
to reap the fruits we planted
but you can tell me the taste
if you want.

so forgive me if my gods are sick
but there are some days in which
we stay behind the lines
feeling more than we should.

karla bardanza