Tanka
Untitled
he examines his hands
as if they were new to him
the way you might look
at someone you’ve heard
an odd story about
hard to imagine
that these hands touched her body
as he pushes them
into his pockets
closes them into fists
that full-blown rose
that he gave her
cupped in her palm
and the weight of it
shocking herwhen the sun burst through
in the sudden stop of the shower
it lit her up
her slender ankles
her ten toes gleamingat the freckled door
the sun-baked loaf of the step
the garden’s green
collecting itself
my mother standing
Page(s) 45
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