Issue 11


Spring 2014

 

Heavyweight



My words flower through
your eyes—mouth
                     to mouth
we pass flecks of streetlamps,
           unfettered horizons. We
ingratiate ourselves
           to the wind. 
Of course time passes—the bump&grind of your teeth is
           a freeway,
                      an abandoned shoe,
                                  a pothole, someone
                                                       else’s keys. 
All of these you stack & restack &
wait to hear the story,
           your name called
                      on the loudspeaker.
I can’t keep doing this, you know,
my sales figures are nearly up
& your hair is
          too sleek, your eyes
                     /treachery/
My mouth streams gravel
& buries us both. Streetlamps wink
off down the street. I am loose
skin
& gaping eyes, I am hands
           tucked & feet pounding
                                the pavement. 
I am a shaved casing
           filled with powder
                     (tight, bracing) & your
fingertips spark my return.
         (I could never truly leave) 
And now you are ferrous,
         brambled, in lockstep
with my sigh, & in each hour
sits a paper lantern,
waiting
          for your
                               touch.

_____________________

Melissa Reddish

 

 

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