Your laugh is as the deep
groove of teeth, the fire
in the summer sand pit.
Not bowls filled with jelly,
but buckets, namely, chalk
full of cherries, hands, and
paper dolls. Each chuckle
a puff and a heavy blow--
to the face, to the jaw--
a massive pin up against a wall,
or a fall in a dream where you wake up
before you hit. Your laugh
is the cup with a crack in the rim,
a dribble slipping out each sip.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment