One Hundred and Ninety-Five.

14/7/14

Izzy circle

izzy

I am the soft thing your hard hands wanted to be when they played at being birds
I am the soft thing your hard hands wanted to hold when they played at being birds
I am the soft thing your hard hands wanted to break when they played at being birds

curled in the cracks raining mud
as if it would always be like water
as if it would never grow hard
as if we would never turn to dust

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Elbows deep in sink suds, I thought of you
Big and broad and smelling like a summer morning
Kissing the nape of my neck as I washed
Twining your hands around my hips
I would wear an apron, I thought
You would heft an axe with a certain grace
I felt a scrap of our happiness, for a moment
From another world that briefly brushed my own

*

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