Her eyes were still now.
The cross she had clutched so tightly
lay in her open palm.
His leather book was slick
from the doubt that dampened his palms.
Lighted pumpkins twinkled
as he drove through the darkened city.
He saw a woman
Selling on the corner,
freezing in fishnets.
He offered her a ride
and a warm bed.
In return, he asked for her confession.
They drove to the home
they had shared as children,
where baked pies sat on window sills,
and they bickered over games.
Author notes
#4 in my unnamed poem cycle for my creative writing class.
Written November 11th, 2006
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