That Sweater Matches Your Eyes
Irises as skeins of yarn, infinity-
looped. Faux bois fingerprints,
carnation pink days-old papercut,
no pain at all in the finger, in the
hand or skin. This body is a textile,
planet person’s atmosphere, outline
traced by a marker while we lie down,
thin, unsteady line left once we get up.
Lovely ekphrastic poem, Hannah. Wonderful line this: 'Your body is a textile....' Your concluding lines make me think of the impression we sometimes leave on bed sheets that we stretch to make disappear.
ReplyDeletelovely lovely...people do say that a lot, don't they, that "that sweater matches your eyes"!
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