Laura Heilman
[image] [word] [being]
Category: Poetry
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There are places we can never go again,Sounds that are lost to the wind.I shed my skin and leave behind another version of me,Someone who once knew how a horse smells on a summer day, just before the rain. Vulture Maiden, original mixed media digital painting, Laura Heilman
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Terror is a dark thing that lies in wait,Pressed down tight under the velocity of hope.I sing, I sing, I sing.
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January sunshine rolls through the clouds like an old god, so many details lost but still longed for. My hand presses against my chest Beneath the squeezing crush of my throat Above the beating rush of my heart. Acorns underfoot, Branches lacing through the winter sky, I am an oak tree in this meadow… Sacred…
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Heaving,A writhing pile of camo and skinny jeansBelts and straps and guns.Under them, just trying to breathe, is a Person.
Laura Heilman 