Issue 9

Autumn 2013


Between the Skin of My Hands and the Things I Touch


Observe this heavy bowl of clay,
these sun-warm plums
moulded for hand and mouth.

Remember my fingers on the aubergine,
remember its texture, its hard softness.
The furry stalks and the swelling tomatoes.

A strict arrangement of the knife and fork,
plates stacked firmly in the cupboard
incurious spoons in their plastic beds;

familiar groupings of inanimate things,
orderly as the ticking of the clock,
precise as a surgical seam.

My heart engorges, breaks again.
A quick opening and closing of doors
in this limbo between fall and spring.

You sleep in my fingertips.
You wake so easily
and reach for me.



Janice D Soderling