To Help You Find Me
Not in the noise. Not there. Not ever. Not in the anguish bound to break us. Search instead your labyrinth heart, all its crusted corridors of ash and shadow, until you come to the clearing you loved as a child. The firefly light there. Bottle caps and kite string. Bicycles leaning into night’s cool green. Take my hand. I will kneel with you in that sacred space, spinning secrets, knee to bandaged knee, shirts off in a soft summer night. Our mothers’ voices calling through twilight. Our skin shimmering. And new.
Robin Turner has recent work in West Trestle Review, Literary Mama, One, and elsewhere. A longtime Dallas resident, she recently moved to the Piney Woods of East Texas.
Photo by Guilherme Stecanella