The Wailing Wall



Courtesy: Leo Castillo 2013

All that remains

is the marble of your back

as you lie on your side asleep
like a fallen column
on bed sheets stretching out
between us
like   forty    years   of    Sinai    sand.

I read the ridge of your spine
skimming the braille of vertebrae
for something buried there

deep as memory

You shift
like a fault line
under the desert landscape
and turn over on your back
offering up the
alabaster of your throat
still and silent
as a sacrifice

I bow my head
fold myself into the open angle
of your side
like an unopened letter.
Press lips to temple,
feeling the pulse of buried blood
constant and hopeful
as a Psalm

Your breath cycles
mixes with mine
hangs in the air
like the unanswered prayer
of the faithless
still waiting for restoration.

About Heidi Stauff

Ultimately ending up in Atlanta, Heidi's creative impulses followed many paths. She delivered middle-class, white-girl, angst to tens and twenties of Generation-Xers through the now defunct rock-band, Belljar. She designed hundreds of dresses for Disney-bound little girls. She birthed two babies she now homeschools, lost and then found her faith again, and writes about all of it in her free time: which is usually after midnight with a glass or three of wine.
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