Untitled
by Kate Winfield



You left me there,
so far from sleep
that my fingers clasped
in some magnetic intercourse,
as if there was some secret
to the inside of my palm.
I believed there was,
and you knew it.
I held rank in the streetlight,
in some stance lacking in subtlety;
my body stretching out until
my shoes met the sidewalk in a silent collision.
Your back, elongated by my poor eyesight retreated,
intermittently oranged by the street lights you passed.
Then, the cruel interruption of a car
gave you the cloud cover needed
to disappear.
My hands unlocked, drifted
to my face, fingering the sockets.
And, through the numbness
all I could recognize was
the rounded click of my heel
to concrete.




About the Author:
Kate Winfield's poem "Jenny's Laundry" appeared in the August, 1997 issue of Grrowl!


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[snarl! of the month] [the edge] [say anything] [untitled poem]
[pennies] [you don't bring me flowers anymore] [her bittersweet revenge]