I wish there were a dry cleaner for the soul
Wait ten minutes, we’ll mend any holes!
Clean out the soot, remove all the stains
Have it back in a flash, free from all pain.
But then what would I do with a soul sparkling clean?
While my thoughts are riddled, ugly and mean
This pure soul would take a look at the shell
Who’d housed it in good, yet brought it through hell.
It would want to flee, fly far from its home
But knowing to do so would leave me to roam
Without a beacon, some promise of hope
Body without soul is unable to cope
Instead of fleeing into the light
My soul would give over with nary a fight
And so I’d be saddled once more with a hole
Which used to be, once, a beautiful soul.
(C) Sara Ackerman, 2019