Sunday

Just So

I.

There are fine scars across my back
that belong to someone else; every now and then

when she turns from a mirror hung just so,
the lilt of her lip remembers a smile.

I speak to her once and again, sentences whole
and without sound; the deadfall of yesteryear.

We feel the push of breath in an answer,
what words are there tangle the distance in between.

II.

A mirror hung just so catches a thought of smile
and remembers the involuntary pull of muscle.

I taste the stir of conversation across my skin;
silence settles there in the cool drifts of its tone.

Hands climb a ladder of scars, hip to nape;
fingers trace each rung, draw questions in sweat.

A whist of words ravel in this separation of air;
echoes whisper one to another the burden of reply.

4 comments:

dragonfly of the night said...

Your poetry is so vivid, I can almost touch the words..

I like it.

Prmod Bafna said...

Beautiful poetry and so emotive too.. Very refreshing to read such a beautiful write! sculpt on oh! lettershaper!!

Anne said...

As usual, I can't find the words to do your poetry justice.
Perhaps one day you will explain how those darkly poetic scars came to be?

Crafty Green Poet said...

I like the rhythm to this and the sense of mystery