Sunday, June 16, 2013

There’s a Slow Leak in Me

There’s a slow leak in me
that hisses like a barn cat
warming the only spot left
for the last bale of hay of the day.

It winds all the way through
me like poisoned blood
marking the path of least resistance
on its way to this flabby deflation

in my chest that refuses to stop
pumping the waste of sunlight
and love I have become. She hears
it, too, says it sounds like the sigh

of coffee brewing in the morning
and is louder than goodbye kisses
or the crinkle of a brown paper bag
heavy with last night’s leftover dinner.



Boston Literary Magazine - Summer 2013

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