Last night, I got kidnapped.
I was trapped
inside a hot
I was shifty
in the church pew –
a cramped place
I have never called home.
Last night, I got lucky.
I discovered
a blank stack
of prayer request paper.
Three by five,
I drew you wearing suns.
I’ve never seen you like this,
but that's the way I always
picture you.
I drew me next to you.
I was reaching
for your middle.
I drew a taller me –
wild-haired,
stick hands nearly touching
the place where your belt
should be.
My fingers got lost
between your loops.
I've never seen me like this,
but the pencil made me
a lead-grey, dipping,
V-necked dress.
Your mouth
was a line.
My mouth
was a circle.
C.A. MacConnell
