Direction

February 7th, 2016 § 0 comments

Over clasped hands,

over a crusty sourdough,

you told me I am an ordinal direction

I am a current

blood line

river.

 

Gesturing to yourself,

a forest fire, an asterisk of motion,

everything burning down and growing

all at once.

 

And both the fire, crawling out,

trailing along Sixty-Four;

and the rivers,

a letting of blood water body,

 

resemble a single raw nerve.

 

I feel more like a boat rocking

on the Gennesee river,

than the north itself.

 

When we’ve finished the bread,

when your name on the page races my heart,

ask me, tell me, how to carry my legs and

fingers and hair,

how to carry them

and still move forward.

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