As She Combs Her Fingers

*

She combs her fingers through her hair,
hears the mattress creak
beneath her
as she raises her eyes
to that old beaten cross.

*

His whiskey kisses tingle
on the back of her neck,
singing the song of rain and alcohol.
But she's escaped this far.

*

Now I'm running, double-timing
through the streets and now I'm flying--
feel the wind lift my hair
and God take my cares,
feel my rubber soles slap cement.
Now I'm running until I'm spent.
I'm flying;
Oh Father, I'm flying...

*

Kisses the tiny cross where Jesus died,
hangs it, chains it, she starts to cry:
More than a necklace,
it's all that she has left.

*

Not a far fall
with paint-peeling walls
train tracks, ceiling cracks
motel and that man's baby in her oven.

*

It's been the wrong man she's been loving,
come this far to run with nothing,
now she's running, now she's running.
-Father God- she screams -I'm coming!-

*

Now I'm running, double-timing
through the streets and now I'm flying--
feel the wind lift my hair
and God take my cares,
feel my rubber soles slap cement.
Now I'm running until I'm spent.
I'm flying;
Oh Father, I'm flying...

*