A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Yoann Boyer on Unsplash

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

and protected.

This place where being barefoot and silent

take on a whole new meaning.

One of peace.

The Red Queen in her crown. YA & adult poetry. Love & relationships. I preserve moments in the glistening amber of language. #WhirlingIntoFlame now available.