Partially inspired by Frank Bidart's The Yoke.

     turn again

turn please
again
i miss your face
pressed so lovingly
among
the
dark
pines
of a childhood stolen
with a cord

you're three footsteps away
so far
away
in a place where sunlight
withers from your cold

your mother’s bruises
were a testament
of
the empty biting
into the pieces of your
fractured heart
as
you
coldly
face
me
white, empty, unmoving in the dark
of your prison
held together by a tree

you stole my soul
by
taking
your
own

turn again, please again
give me a word
to
placate this lonesome grief

turn please, again.