Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.12

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

We tipped the waitress too much,
both feeling inclined
to spend our saved-up good right then.
And as the woman at the door
said, "You make a really beautiful 
couple," I stepped out

into the uncertain evening: 
the seven-block voyage 
from the restaurant to your van.
In thirty-something degrees, your 
right hand hibernates deep 
in the pocket. The left, however

dangles free. Like a white crane 
with open feathers, it spreads 
against the black of your pea coat
and my fingers want to strangle 
that bird, but a sign flashes 
"Don't

Walk."  
Your knuckles are lonely notches: 
the vertebrae of a fetus 
hanging limp. And I'd hold you
for nine months if I could,
in the belly of my palm

but we're approaching the corner. 
You dig for your keys
as I wonder how many minutes
are left on the meter.
How many coins it would take
to make time stop beating on.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required