Saturday, 2:07

by carmenmariamandley

Sometimes in drifts

Battalions, then other times

(What DOES it mean to PERCH in the soul?)

Tying that knot twenty times

(each fifth grader knew exactly the nature of hope)

I counted.

Sadness is the great mathematician.

after door’s click my eyes closed

the cliche in me wanted to remember the night past when

we tight in rose hip fist of limbs pining exhausted ending ate the rest of us alive,

then some eggs.

To will breath is

too overwhelming, now.

Hum of refrigerator, deafening

So sadness and I, we count the white lights

circling the tree

covered in feathers (sings the tune without)

backs of cut up greeting cards

(the words)

I do not think I will,

(she said)

I think, perhaps, (she said)

I am too tired to do this more.

But (she said)

The curve of your waist is so lovely, more petite and paint-worthy

Than that of the soldier, the scholar.

Perhaps,(she warned)

I never should have learned the line of it.

Perhaps (she recanted) it is best a part

of the sweetness you showed me once

On a boat,

on a small journey

To some island

or some other where (she laughed)

most likely in my wildest fancies.

The ragged white of the back of her hand shivered, slight

she drew from memory the relief of the familiar

what is was to be sure of herself

closed her book

and

took one step.

One.