By Annabel Lang
I love you in my arms
where I've carried you since childhood,
You leapt from a tree.
I caught you. We coincide. I've held you
not knowing what it is I hold on to.
What is a sister when there is nothing simple like blood to lie about?
I'm learning fidelity
to language. To trust words
not what words say
as an urn may carry water or ashes but we gather shards
to save men glorious Grecian half-naked
etched black on clay skin
and our bodies may hide
any kinds of bones. We love a face
not thoughts we don't know.
So I will write you love letters and let love be
only the shape of the letters inside
the word love. This way as my arms open
may petals fall under your feet.