In memory of Bonna Haberman

Where
do
molecules
of
our
speech
migrate
when
our
hands
cease
touching,
giving
comfort?…

What
ancient
shellfish
fractured
its
shield
so
its
pulsing
fear
rises
through
our
veins?

 …

Tongue

Who
keeps
the
words
fresh
and
reborn
from
day
to
day?
Your
loose
tongue.

Winded

So
fast,
yesterday
I
was
throwing
snowballs
with
the
wind,
now
it’s
against
me.

Afterword
for Christal Steck

The
word
arrives
a
bit
late…