i took my picture
in order to steal my soul
so that i could live without worrying
whether it would ever be hurt.

the wind was icy,
the ground glittered,
and i held ink and paper
between thumb and forefinger.
i had a plan, and i was ready to see it through.

my soul was blown down the street
and out of sight.
a note, a message to whoever dared pick it up.

across lots and lawns.
through tunnels and over tempestuous seas.
and somehow it wound up near your front door.

urges are a funny thing
and yours you gave into.
you opened your door and i flew right in.
you never saw, you never knew
what compelled you that moment.
but i am thankful for your need to open doors
that no one stands behind.

i fluttered and settled
among dust and threads
beneath your sofa by the fire.
and i proceeded to warm my inked expression.

the night came,
and a month joined that,
and you never looked beneath the legs
of an old and worn frame.

and then the sun came,
and melted all the snow.
you wanted out of the house,
something had been tugging at your mind.
what was it?

what was it?

you always lost everything.
the house was ransacked as you cursed and swore.
you had somewhere to go,
someone to be,
and you couldn't find your key.

but you found me.

dusty but i still gleamed.
you squinted your eyes,
and wiped my face.
i stared back.
and you sat down.

i was a forgotten memory.
a silly person from the time you were young.
a girl without.
i was.




i took my picture
to lose my soul
so that i could protect it.

you found the picture,
and my soul,
and placed me on your mantel.



i like it here.
it's warm.