Cup of coffee kept me awake last night. Couldn’t stop twisting and turning, what was happening wasn’t exactly dreaming because I knew it was happening. I knelt down in the courtyard, on the asphalt. There, I saw the anklets of the children playing — their bodies above the anklets cut off. From below. I was below their level. Children running — the anklets whirred by. And I stopped frozen. The “beloved”? Arms in short sleeves: the sleeve fabric like anklets fresh on the skin. Dogs keep jumping at the sun whether in windows or metal pans.
Shira Dentz Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2019, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|