Confluence Postpartum

by christopher palentchar

How smooth my fingernails slide. The bronze curve and her goose bump tummy. Several cylinders combust. One thigh quivers and her shoulder lies limp. Calloused palms lose there place.

In that eternal moment, all insecurities dissipate, filed away beneath the ether and beneath time.

From bedpost to bedpost, demons cast white fireballs. Angels dance in clockwise ecstasy.

Harmony, and syncopation, and mattress springs.

I hear a faint squeak fall from her lips. There are ripples in the vapor. Outside-mountains roar.

Now suddenly animated, rubbing sparks from her eyes. She is slightly more than a shadow. Her cheek is forced to mine.

One teardrop. Salty and shared. Reality is displaced.

Behind my eyelids we continue our existence. Pain and doubt and hope and fear. We continue in our bags of flesh and bone.

The windows are painted with frost, and here the last snowflake is absorbed into mud.