Today's poem is by Laura Kasischke
The water glass. The rain. The scale
waiting for the weight. The car.
The key. The rag. The dust. Once
I was a much younger woman
in a hallway, and I saw you:
I said to myself
Here he comes.
My future's husband.
And even before that. I was the pink
throbbing of the swim bladder
inside a fish in the River Styx. I was
the needle's eye. I was the air
around the wing of a fly, and you
had no idea you were even alive.
Copyright © 2011 Laura Kasischke All rights reserved
from Space, in Chains
Copper Canyon Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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