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May 2014
I adore the phrase
The shape of my mouth when I say it,
with final 't's in a hushed tone

All I imagine from it
I want to write poems
Sing songs
Take photos
Make love

Colored leaves, cracked
Holding fiercely onto a tree

Delicate hand holding
Of the elderly couple
See the lines, wrinkles,
Years of pain; happiness too

As her wrists and her limbs, lithe
Yet the quiet grace as she moves

Dainty fingernails and toenails
Of an infant
Silent, asleep, innocent

Brittle as the windows
Of the past.
Abigail Marie
Written by
Abigail Marie
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