Folding

You can’t fold the grey ashes of hurt
in an envelope and iron them with Will

when I laced up my shoes with my mind to
control Myth, and the words slipped
through your mouth, the laces
failed to grip the arches of my feet

and I slipped in the puddle of Yeses
that drowns the weak pounding hearts of
the fairytales that burn and never
burn out.

The black strings of smoke swayed;
the taste of the burning was the flavor of your tongue—
swaying in the air to persuade me into Dumbness—
the candle had spoken its words.

One of us burned out.

You can’t fold the ashes of hurt now
in an envelope and iron the Will to
persuade me back into the pieces I was
before I slipped into Marriage with you.

J. S. Lila was born in the Middle East and raised in the Maritimes of Canada. She’s been writing about her eccentric view of the world, first with poetry, since the age of fifteen. Lila considers her writing an experiment in fictional catharsis; pouring fake secrets into real-life experience. She received her Bachelor of Arts degree from Saint Mary’s University, Halifax, Novia Scotia, and is currently completing her first novel. You can read more of her writings on her blog Lila’s Twist.