Home

How was I?”
        you asked,
                when you met me?
Contained,
        I said.
                A slick black stripe,
or pillar.
        And now? Now,
                here you are, naked
as a jaybird,
        the spit of
                sand, satisfyingly
diffused up
        the hourglass,
                and
                        out-
                into woodgrains, into
        breathing fabric
                and the folds
        of roses,
                into the divets of
my skin.
        Dust.
                Dust.
                        Dust.


Olivia Olson lives in Rochester, MI. Her poems have appeared in Miller’s Pond
and Bird’s Thumb.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s