The Sarah I see
is at most just the ghost
of a girl I knew well
and a woman I wont.
She’s got two Neptune eyes
in two cold yellow holes,
a tambourine rattle
and a tin whistle throat.
Sarah is sick
of seeing something I don’t,
sick of waking each day
sick of wishing she wont.
She’s got curtain rail shoulders
and glockenspiel ribs,
four spider leg limbs
and two steel drum hips.
Sarah lies on her side
between two yellow sheets,
She closes her eyes,
and the salt water creeps
from the cracks at the sides
of her two Neptune eyes,
And her tears all collect
in her reservoir cheeks.
