falls like the sound of a glass bell
gathering in cupped hands slowly/yet
covers the melting heat of crinkled palms
until cold blankets/tucks in
fingertips with tiny pinprick kisses


reflects strangers/horizons
standing at a distance
the mirror seems to move faster/to anticipate
seems more (knowing) like a voice than its echo


mother hand/arm reaching behind infant back
wide fingers cradling head/new shoot arms move unsteadily
like a voice learning a melody (descant)
belly a solitary moon above the bath water


overwhite photograph/afternoon/illuminated apron
bleached bone sleeve/hand to pewter pot
shaped like a head sized mug
hand open/holding back/as if catching hilltop winds
fingers look (are) accidental on handle
shadow checked girl/dotted dress/fingertips on countertop


too many pockets/not enough clothes that fit
pocket full/seams (is) broken/pulling apart from top
walking from room to scattered room/in search
of tiny objects/picking them up/picking them up
entering doorways/glancing/fingers brushing wall
barely/leaving again
boy behind a curtain/laughs/pulls the fabric away
emerging tooth grin/curtain again


woman/thinned beyond breath/mouth ajar
waiting to be closed/eyes closed
body dissolved beneath shadow blankets
head in a mist of hair/everything grey and lilac pale
soft/younger in stillness
two feet/bottoms up/crisscrosses/Xs that spirits cannot
cross/away/red bisecting/sewn in the hollow
of the center of the sole

Kathleen Sullivan Isacson 

If you've any comments on this poem, Kathleen Sullivan Isacson  would be pleased to hear from you.

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