I’m not that girl you knew, you know.
You know I’m not that girl.
The dust of the enchanted miles
sticks in my throat, muddy,
and stifles words I might regret.
You hang on to my memory
like a rosary, marking each layer
with a reverent rub of the thumb.
prayers never answered.
I’m not that girl you knew.
And I know
you’re not that boy,
I sharpened my teeth on
and left there on the road
© 2006 rhonda lee richoux