MONTHS

It has to do with my mother’s scarf laying on the table. I have this body and I do not have this body. It has to do with how I’ve moved and been held still. Was lost on the roof but came down to water the olive trees. I have this body while I have this body. So I am had by and loved by and felt through and without sense, by this body I am held by and I hold by. My own actions you’ve thrown a hammer across the room and it breaks open a hole in the wall. The feeling of plaster thick in wads on my hands. Labor of letting one surface cover another. Of allowing to be mended. When you leave how I have crossed our signals and thighs or brought disaster by accident. One day you point to what I have always seen before but never known, and the walls keep on needing to be patched up and I fix them. MONTHS Lily Sickles 11