The televangelist's wife

(Disclaimer: I'm not trying to offend any religious people, I just wanted to write a poem about misconceptions and wanting answers to questions you can't ask. It's not specifically about Christianity, I just chose the title because it sounds like something a gossip would say, and the person in the poem is really concerned about what others say about her. Inspired by watching too much TV and the book The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck… sort of. I took the phrase "Erasing the stars" from him. )

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bus stop payphone, she called home

left a message at the sound of the tone

wrote a letter in the sand, stood still as time

night fell and fire fell under the sky

cities leveled, people turned to salt

(today they turn to alcohol)

drunk off prayers, no moderation

paper hands elevation

ask no questions have no fear

blind faith's never been so clear

no future and no history

present tense turns to travesty

"G-d why won't you let me change?"

"I obviously can't sing in that range!"

her arms are bound (can't you see she's already paralyzed?)

waits for a sound ("but she'd never act out!")

never look back or think she's made a mistake

medication's got its limits and something's got to break

houses built between the lines

climbers with nothing to climb

light pollution erases the stars

thinking that way singing in bars

so instead she takes photographs of graffiti and puts them under her pillow for the words she'll only permit herself to see/hear/think in dreams.