You are here

Be Me

Lisa Matthews

I breathe in as you exhale. The sun butters

the window pane. Across the field the starlings

settle in a perfect square fallen fallow. Dry earth

needs rain and storm clouds choke behind

the western horizon. Your clock ticks, tracing

a perfect semi-circle with a quiet hand. No one

will see this but me, I feel small under the weight

of it, unequal to the measure of these days.

Keep my appointments, then tell me again how you feel.


From Chroma No 2 (Spring 2005)