POEM | Kate Henry
Each Day Concern with correctness made the parting Amicable. We shook hands, no other Parts touched—we made sure. There were no Water spills, no plate-clatter, no smarting Of the hand’s hot print ghosted on my back. Each day the kitchen grew murkier. Fruit Flies bloomed upward in séance, unrooted From rot when I came near. I put lilac Soap in vinegar, bleached the countertops, Did the ritual, if for no other reason But to clarify the body’s sense Of flesh. The resilient burn cropped Up and faded. Each day cold and related Closely to the last. I kept watch. I waited.
Raleigh Review | 29
