Nagoya Writes

December 4, 2007

The Fossil on your Stoop by Rachel Price

Filed under: Issue: May 2006,Poetry,Price — usbengoshi @ 6:24 pm

The falling sickness came
when you compared my hips to a bowl.
My teeth jumped out of my mouth.

And the last of mother’s squashy warmth?
I forgot it
To huddle in your door way. For snow.
To call out as you were falling
(and you were always falling).

But remember:
I’ll stop your mouth with mine
before you are anything more than weight.

You, my ever-maybe. You, my square hands
are all the things I bought
for someone else to see
(flasks, books, velvet, pillows, slips)

and whoever you are,
(square-handed, brown-eyed, biceped)
you’ll have a concrete imprint
of my bending back on your front porch.
You’ll have me frozen in my flasks and possibilities.
All but one.

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