CALL ME BELOVED

Yesterday I was nine years old
and the crucifix wobbled in my arms
as I marched down the aisle, top heavy
and ready to fall like a glaive –
an unwitting executioner,
robed in black and white.

Today, we slipped out the back – out
to where the air was lighter, where
the walls didn’t loom so sure, so tall.
Yesterday was relegated to hindsight.
This was no home to us, anymore.

As we held hands, looking for clouds
I whispered my intentions –
Don’t let them look back, the thought
a tailspin, a dread shared between
two minds – “this was a mistake,”
finality, the punctuation at the end
of what started youthful and sure,
under an aurora of camera flashes
and cornflower skies.

2015 Poem-A-Week 15: April 9 – April 15