A poem by Julia R. DeStefano
Thrust-upon silence envelops like a fog.
Making each of my barefooted steps
seem massive on the hardwood.
Floorboards creaking in the eerie quiet.
Time and again,
my heart is ripped from me within these walls.
No words of remorse
for the woman setting her heart into a box
until she regains the energy to reinstall it.
Sometimes weeks later.
But there is a boy with a voice that soothes
to the point of weightlessness.
My tireless hero unafraid to retrieve
the needle and crimson thread
to stitch me back up
because he knows where it hurts
and won’t let my precious heart
cease its strong beat.
He doesn’t wear gloves,
not minding getting messy in my juices.
Smiling as he works to restore his Venus
with a magic touch.
His warmth overtaking my essence
like the water we glide through on the beach
where I ask him to bring me.
I feel free with him there
This place where being barefoot and silent
take on a whole new meaning.
One of peace.
© Julia R. DeStefano