She would cry every time we put her in the carriage. That was all right, and the way I had to lean sideways to make her sleep. Her soft breath on my face. Smelled like waste. My back would heal and she would nurse. My nipples still blue when the sound of the ocean stopped. Sometimes the trees bend toward me and I’ll feel something like it. Or taste it just before. The gold dripping off the leaves, just before it sweetens and betrays.
Kahee and the Dark
In Xi’an I’d wake
in the dark, unable to find my hands.
Remember how we went for oranges?
We held them, sweet and tart, the only bright things
in the sudden fog.
at the edges of the fields.
We walked home without our feet.
Later, the notes of your flute drifted down the hall.
It spoke of a forest.
How you sing when you walk, not to lose yourself.
The song stopped and the dark
erased the room.
[…] “In Xi’an I’d wake / in the dark, unable to find my hands. / Remember how we went for oranges? / We held them, sweet and tart, the only bright things / in the sudden fog.” (from “Kahee and the Dark“) […]