Today's poem is by Amy Meng
I've tasted bones from the butcher's
house and once a sun-bleached fragment
of skull. The longer I live the closer I get.
At rush hour turnstiles click like a summer
mob of beetles their shining mouths.
Trains deafen as they speed, departure
trailing like a loosened bow.
Inside the car it's quiet, silent
inside speed and delicious
to be with something that just holds me.
By the lane birches are notched with public initials:
it seems like proof but isn't.
Nights, my bare thigh bumps a table and pain
spreads like slow ink. I move
through the exercises of lust,
a sour drill: look at tight buds
of lavender, the ring finger
of strangers: look at people getting into
their homes, light from the hallway falling
flat on their faces it's never enough. I turn
and walk straight into the blaxing X of the sun
Copyright © 2018 Amy Meng All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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