evening when I was 8

Sometimes a perishing finds its way into a watershed

Landscape crazed with lines etched in mud

I found your face a precious finding

Disturbed by this dream of a patio a porch dark when I heard through the glass

A sound my heavy heartbeat
Through the years

Reaching me here

Clasped through time a pinch in plastic

Percieving and laundry rooms whispering

To fold your clothes fold your clothes

Fold all of them. You’re never done

And the container containing you possesses you

And strings you out on the line

In the sunshine; but a frost day

And you can’t be folded anymore

Author: K L

Just having a human experience like everyone else.

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

%d bloggers like this: