Her palms drag through the cold,
two winters embed in smooth skin.
Oak. Umber. Sepia.
The day’s rain haunts fingertips.
Strands of roots replace the memory of
old, easy days; restore hollow impressions.
His charcoaled stones left behind,
found lodged in shoes, sinking between
cracks. The ripples of his footprints stain
mossy rugs and rickety floorboards:
smudging half-hearted attempts at
steadiness. Her hands, muddied by
yesterdays, ease towards
the bathroom sink: lavender soap.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s