Poetry

Eyes, this is where she wanted to begin

Eyes, this is where she wanted to begin
openings into more than the present

Skin, not even his, only her own
and breath, heavy breathing

Fingers, digging holes, not holding
a pig for slaughter, still crackling

A jaw slack-lined across the ground
and she once believed her skin

was impenetrable, cold particles
reflecting everything but herself.

If it could all be scraped off
she'd grow feathers and then eyes.

I can't remember his eyes
all I could see was skin

A frail layer
barely an attempt.

Colombine Neal