233/365: Churches

the church at Batoche

the church at Batoche

These rooms reserved for reverence,
hope, fealty,
these church rooms hollow me.
I am carved out,
suctioned breathless.
When their love would not have me,
my twelfth year stripped me bare.
I nibbled the guilty edges
and measured my wrists.
I plotted dissolution.


I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.