Cantus

Sometimes I walk miles and miles across the field
Just to check if
You are still breathing
I gently touch your back and think
Look, it’s winter!
We have the town all to ourselves
Your hair grows and grows over the frozen river
As you sleep
My hands collect golden tears
To bake the silent fresh bread
Of my last supper.

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Picture

I saw her in the mirror today
And she saw me.
We watched each other for a while.
The black reached forward.
The blue moved backwards.
I pushed my hands against the glass
She did the same.
I leaned towards left
She towards right.
I stopped. She stopped too.
Then laughed.
I had no teeth.
She had some.
I had rain water in my hair
She had no hair at all.
None at all, had she, NO…THING.
There’s been no rain in her world for a while now.
Just a persistent thirst.
She carefully opened her palm to
Catch the falling drops and look at them
But I rushed out
Gently pushing the image away.
My wet hands, her cracked lips.
The soft memory of growing old
Alone.

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Print: Lorraine Robbins