Written during a time of difficulty in communication.

I think of you as porcelain, he says—
All elegant
and white
Oh yes I see, she says—
Brittle, cold and bright.

He sees her as a wonder of survival;
Precious, dear.
She sees herself as isolate—
And him, too near.

Although they’ve fooled around, it seems
They’ve yet to really touch.
I love you, he says rhetorically—
And she says
nothing much.






–Mary Lynn Archibald
©1981