Kin: Poems

Yea, Though I Walk

Yea, Though I Walk ... Yesterday, I stood naked Except for a barrette-gold And tarnishing at The edges-in the mirror. How is it that when days are long, Obscure, and flee my grip, I Understand only that Glass and dust gather? How is it that when my cat hides herself In dosets as if her bones Will fall apart, recompose themselves And dance her into something else, I Liken those days to you? Mother, the Kitchen is perpetually dirty, The bathroom filled with lint balls, the House in disrepair. I Revolve able to only, finally, sit naked On the couch. So Unlike you who would dean and 12 Grub until your hands were raw. How unlike you I am in These most mundane matters. How dissimilar we are in Everything visible. I Vacillate over sitcoms And books, seldom question Luxuries/necessities like cabs or expensive Linens. Yet, my Eyes, brown and wide, reflect Your name. On days, when I am confused, Fretting, or Decided, I see your green/gray Eyes peering back through the dust And am quieted. To outsiders, our skins different as this day. Here, though, where the pounding is soft as your hand on my cheek, no. Salvation/sameness grows in soft hushed tones, like flutters, like wings. 13 ...