It seems she holds wet washcloths in her words,
turning syllables moist so they stick.
She pulled band aids from my breasts,
while the birds watched, besotted–
and I play acted surprise.
Her coffee makes me shudder and I
bite the spoon until my tongue
cuts the bottom of the pool.
She uses tomatoes to brush
the crumbs from my hair.
I am already shaken,
so she sends her wind,
and her death among the apple trees.
It seems she holds wet washcloths in her words,
turning syllables moist so they stick.
She pulled band aids from my breasts,
while the birds watched, besotted–
and I play acted surprise.
Her coffee makes me shudder and I
bite the spoon until my tongue
cuts the bottom of the pool.
She uses tomatoes to brush
the crumbs from my hair.
I am already shaken,
so she sends her wind,
and her death among the apple trees.

Originally published in White Wall Review 41 (2017)