Postcard
Dear Mariam,
I’m sending you a button from my cotton shirt
And a Pinecone; that I coloured blue, last autumn.
I also coloured my room, blue.
Your shawl, ruined by barbed wires; can I have it?
It reminds me of the blue veins on your snowflake breasts.
Boot stomps on your wooden door,
They can’t smell the tender grass on your feet.
I remember when your fists turned into flowers
And you swallowed a whole cloud.
There is a place on the back of your knee,
Where I kissed long before the first hour.
They asked me to write down your address on the envelope
But I almost forgot it,
So I wrote a poem instead.
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