On the day we move in,
clouds interrupt
our view of what transitions
into space.
The whisped water
a thin sheet between us.
That is how
close we are to suffocation.
We can almost see
the glass lion chasing
the lamb around Saturn.
In the new home I unpack
Sunday dresses, always
ready to knee cover,
shoulder hide.
Once again, I’m a believer
or a faint of heart follower
and both leave me
grasping at wisps
of the faith
I was raised in.
Still I cannot
leave. Still I hang
the dresses smooth.
Still I cloudwatch for
Saturn’s ringing scythe.
Looking for the face
of some god
who will not
smother me.
Taylor Franson-Thiel is a Pushcart nominated poet from Utah, now based in Fairfax, Virginia. She received her Master’s in creative writing from Utah State University and is pursuing an MFA at George Mason University. Her debut collection Bone Valley Hymnal is forthcoming in 2025 from ELJ Editions. She enjoys lifting heavy weights and posting reviews to Goodreads like someone is actually reading them. She can be found on Twitter @TaylorFranson and at TaylorFranson-Thiel.com