Sarah Awad    © 2016 All Rights Reserved

These days of mismatched socks


Once I was a poem about an overturned sock drawer.
Now itís impossible to separate whatís real from whatís not.

The morning water encircles me until Iím half buried
in mud. A mountain lake between this world and the next.

The afternoon sun warbles across the sky like a lover
dreaming of slippery things, and I wonder if I am less

empty than the day before, this honeyed song like a sentence
blossoming in my hand until Iím cocooned in echoes

of clouds at night, pulling the thread from my mouth and tying
it to yours, weaving the new moon on a mothís wing between us.

I would choose this world if I could see the difference between
a leaf and a leaf, but how do we move from one life to the next

when neither of us will let go? How nice it would be to stay.
As if we could root in the hornetís wing. As if eyes remained

closed in darkness, as if one hand could sing anotherís song.

 

 

Peter Grandbois
Copyright © 2016  

Peter Grandbois is the author of seven previous books. His poems, stories, and essays have appeared in over sixty journals. His plays have been performed in St. Louis, Columbus, Los Angeles, and New York. He is senior editor at Boulevard magazine and teaches at Denison University in Ohio.


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