I attract broken people
I am the light
That beckons the moth –
They come rattling to me with their broken bones
That they carry in torn and tearing satchels
Towards me they come
With ruptured veins drawn into the once white of their eyes
My light calls for the migrating –
I collect broken stories
Voices creaked, course, dry are lathered into me
Their ancient shipwrecked internal-self is easy to recognise
They wear the scars of cracks on their lips
Speaking of ghosts constantly, of lost limbs or hopes,
Of disrupted voyages carried by lamenting seas,
Ocular holes that resemble hearts
Yes, ghostly, ghastly – barren, broken.
I am suppose to provide homes for these cold-flesh souls
Of still breaking bones and hurting sounds
Cooked marrow, endless melodies; nothing can heal.
I offer them haikus on napkins
With a cup of my best tea
‘Here, soothe away the dust that has settled
To mend the hollow that fills your inside’
My light is the unwise’s guide –
My frail lap is a pillow for heads that ache for warmth, for home, for soothing.
I pull at the silk strings of my chrysalis that homes the wrecked.
Illuminate the life that I know resonates with them.
I transform my coming-apart image.
Renovate my cocoon; I build a stronger smile to wear.
Maybe in time, the singing of rattling bones will draw nearer to the moon.
Farther away from me.
Moons make better homes for broken people.
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