Poetry: Selections From Senne Anders
she kneels; she does not pray
you watch with amber eyes that burn
they are on their knees
they sit kissing the golden crosses
that hang between their breasts outside of worship
gifts from the grandparents that
begged for their baptisms
you stare without the relief of
blinking
unwilling to tear starved eyes from
the Eden they crave
pale cheeks
chapped lips
soft words passed between them
white teeth smiles pressed into
folded hands
their eyes are closed
missing the beauty of their own
purity
you stare as a rising crackling of
white noise fills your ears
you are of the godless
the curious
unable to comprehend the prayers on
the tongues of the religious
bruised knees
sweating palms
a pit in your stomach
what it must be like, to kneel and
pray?
Mumble
your prayers
Her name
is a poison I lap up with the loyalty of a dog
I let it
sit on my tongue,
Savoring
the flavor as my burning eyes refuse sleep
Her ghost
is curled beside me,
No indent
on the cold sheets as she caresses my skin
It is a
prayer, the whisper of her name
She became
my god, my muse
Once
buried, she gained immortality in my eyes
To be
haunted is a religious experience
To be
haunted is proof of devotion
I mumble
my prayers with the hope that she will lean close to listen
Reaching
hands
There is a
familiar ache of wanting. It’s imprecise and unwavering.
I’ll
accept your crumbs like ritual sacrifices. Feed the hunger and perhaps the ache
won’t return.
Every
reaching hand is welcomed. Leave me bruised in the way you hold too tight, too
rough. Be too much for me.
I dread
this constant ache for more. Split me in half, burrow under my skin. All of you
isn’t enough. Not when I’ve been surviving on this starvation for years.
Reach for
me with the knowledge that I am desperate for it.
I can go
without love, the imitation tastes like the real thing to someone like
me.
Tell me
you love me with your fingers crossed, as long as they’re behind your back.
Picture
another with me in your arms, as long as you stay the night.
When you
leave, toss me an apology on your way out the door.
Senne
Anders is an aspiring writer.