I'm Not That Girl

I’m not that girl

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 brings quiet to the rage.

You hang on to my memory

like a rosary, marking each moment

with a reverent rub of the thumb.

Repeating

Repeating

Repeating

prayers never answered.

I’m not that girl you knew.

And I know you’re not that boy,

that mystical gypsy

I sharpened my teeth on

and left there, bleeding

on the road.

© 2006 rhonda lee richoux