If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?



Friday, October 12, 2012

Mag 138: 'From Mother's Clutch'

From mother’s old black clutch,
I draw out a Popsicle stick,
her wary eyes
forming a link between my brazen lips
and its discolored hilt,
while around my neck
the stethoscope she forgo
to have my careful hands
depress her tongue.

‘Say, Ah.’


Feel free...