We can't return. We can only look behind from where we came and go 'round, and 'round, and 'round in the circle game. ~~ Joni Mitchell
Cleaving
By Nordette N. Adams
You, as I see you,
who once sent me flowers
disguised as words,
evade
when I say what I need
in this twilight that paints us
silver as a frozen lake.
Yet I still reach for
your hand, cooling,
limp against your thigh,
stingy.
With wild purple threads
I twirl from room to room,
seeking what we had in
barren corners,
tripping myself,
smelling in descent our
extending staleness.
I forgot to tie
us tightly,
I let this cruel winter air
dry us like crumbs.
But you could freshen,
preserve the sweet
taste, the hearty bread
chocked with raisins
of our wrinkling hearts.
I grant you these powers
as you gave me power
to preserve,
but never warned me
you'd boxed these magic stones,
slid them beneath my
satin pillow.
I only heard you breathing
beside me while
you endowed me.
And I see you
against the wall,
weaker than I thought.
I return those stones.
Nourish us.
(c) 2009 Nordette N. Adams
Also at WSATA
Related works:
- Your Name Should Rhyme With Mine
- Reading You Again
- But I Feel Him
- The Green Green Grass
- Learning Curve
- Apology
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