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.