by Lisa Santos

I melt small letters

with the rain of my heart

unto sheets of plainness and begging

The simple language of

my world tried in the atmosphere

of worldly cruelties

I am thrown into the scary


their burning eyes

penetrate through…

And I wonder with a pit of bitter

who they see

Yet I know simply

the hours I live

the breath which enters and leaves

They may know a wonder

I have not known


I am better to be simple

in not knowing at all