Page 35 - Contrast2008
P. 35
the Glo- Write
that stutters, and blinks
like a bug lamp
lit the milky leaves
of her midnight
diary.
She drew a thin-edged
yin yang sign on the knee
of bleach-splashed, stringy
jeans with this red. Fresh curls
fell loose on her neck,
her barely dried nails
drummed our unwashed
supper table.
Instead of goodbye,
I told her to be sure
the chain lock caught
when she came home.
