I want to erase your footprints <br />from my walls. Each pillow <br />is thick with your reasons. Omens <br /> <br />fill the sidewalk below my window: a woman <br />in a party hat, clinging <br />to a tin-foil balloon. Shadows <br /> <br />creep slowly across the tar, someone yells, "Stop!" <br />and I close my eyes. I can't watch <br /> <br />as this town slowly empties, leaving me <br />strung between bon-voyages, like so many clothes <br />on a line, the white handkerchief <br /> <br />stuck in my throat. You know the way Jesus <br /> <br />rips open his shirt <br />to show us his heart, all flaming and thorny, <br />the way he points to it. I'm afraid <br /> <br />the way I'll miss you will be this obvious. <br /> <br />I have a friend who everyone warns me <br />is dangerous, he hides <br />bloody images of Jesus <br />around my house, for me to find <br /> <br />when I come home; Jesus <br />behind the cupboard door, Jesus tucked <br /> <br />into the mirror. He wants to save me <br />but we disagree from what. My version of hell <br />is someone ripping open his shirt <br /> <br />and saying, Look what I did for you. . .<br /><br />Nick Flynn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/emptying-town/
