“Break-up” isn’t the word
Where my stomach ached to swell
there is a single concave
so quiet
waiting for a child that I do not know
No more impish smile and black braids
The male face at the breakfast table
Could be any face
Hidden behind any newspaper
Sports or Business or Weather
White or wheat toast
My hands are what I know
Clasped together tightly
Small soft ball on the linen
A mass of folded bone
one thing, two pieces
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4 comments:
This is just beautiful. The last stanza was my absolute favorite. Your writing is just so focused and you have such a "voice."
love it. love you. more please.
(ps- you are bringing some beauty to heartbreak. i am thinking happy thoughts for you.)
Wow. Um. Wow.
*hug*
Gorgeous. I love that you've blogged recently!
i know what you mean...."break-up" feels so juvenile.
This is gorgeous. Just like you....Dar said it best...focused. You are just so certain and simple.
Thanks
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