We speak,
First,
Of the marks on our fingernails
Dotted, white, uneven,
And we speak of the good luck to come.
We speak,
Then,
Of the itches on our palms
Gnawing in,
restless, as we speak,
of the fortune soon to be acquired.
We speak,
Again,
Of the twitches on our noses,
(your nose turned redder when we fought)
And of all those who
Might be
Bitching about us.
And then we speak again
The tickles, the dead feet, the fatigued arms,
The coldness on our hands,
The warmth of my breath on your chin,
The wriggling sweat drop ...
We speak
First to our silences
The exhausted luck
The wayward fortune
Your silences about me
Mine about you
10 comments:
beautiful :)
Musings of a Wanderer
beautifully described.. liked it..!!
This is just amazing I absolutely love this!
your words hop cross many places.
well penned piece.
Happy Rally.
I like how well you conveyed the way people interact with one another and share close, if not always blissful, relationships.
I would like to, if you don't mind, take a sledge hammer and shatter the stone in the photo, so you can speak freely...This is what your poem evokes in me! You conveyed the universal consciousness limitations we allow but don't have to! Beautiful!
nice
Laura Nero called it "the stoey end."
Gosh, I am responding to your comment to me! Thank you so much for your candid comment! I call it like I see it. And I hope in some way you gain new perspectives from what I discovered in your poetry! Great poem! God Bless!
Cindy
*cute*
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