The stone hair is soft like his eyelashes, if they too could be carved. He focuses on a white wall— on the psalm he cannot write. He wishes for strands of marble, like spider’s legs, around his staring eyes. Then he may blink Goliath out of the crowd surveilling his flesh. They watch as he lifts his left foot and begins the march into his own shadow.
One response to “The David”
Love this. You’ve hit me in the feels again.Loading…