I have run out of ways
to save myself.
That is the truth of it.
I have prayed.
I have worked.
I have swallowed the fear
and called it a day.
And tomorrow,
I will get up
and do it all again.
But tonight,
God,
if You are listening,
I have nothing left
to make this sound
like faith.
I am just a woman
standing here
with her hands out,
and I cannot remember
the last time
anything
fell into them.
I would tell you this
if I knew how to say it
without naming you.
I watched a leaf burn.
Quickly—
green, then black.
I almost blew out the flame
to keep it from aching.
But I didn’t.
I watched it whelp
in its own cracking
two small red places
burning inside the dark.
And I thought of you.
Not because you are the fire.
Because I could have stopped it.
I didn’t.
Did you miss me?
I am that dot.
The one your eye keeps finding
even when you’re trying
not to look.
There are dots everywhere.
And then there’s me.
A little off.
Not where I belong.
Not part of the plan.
Maybe that’s why
you keep noticing me.
Maybe that’s why
you keep coming back.
I am not the pattern.
I am the flaw
your eye keeps returning to.
The thing you tell yourself
doesn’t matter.
The thing you think about
anyway.
I am that dot.
The one you keep trying
to look away from.
The one that stays
after you do.
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