Friday, January 30, 2009

I am standing at the corner of February as I consider my hands.

You read the letter I addressed to your neighbor;
I wiggled my eyebrows and you snorted.
Later, you pretended to sleep and I
crept into the kitchen to pour
a glass of water.
With your eyes still closed,
you commanded my return.
I know because the creases of
your forehead were unchanged.
"Spell a word on my arm," I whispered.
In summer, you traced "butterfly" and "love."
By winter, it was a stupid game
and I was just a stupid girl.
"Do you know what my hands look like?"
But you were asleep this time,
and now I was the one pretending.

April is not at all the cruelest month.

3 comments:

Chad said...

That is one damn fine piece of writing.

And you are really a lovely girl.

You really need to stop taking shit from those beneath you.

Anonymous said...

That was very nice, you really should write more...

HiQKid (Alex) said...

I've told you this already, but I'd like the whole world to know it.

Your writing is amazing, as are you.

The beauty of the words reflects that of the flesh and the mind and the soul.