Fragile

When I rest my eyes, I’m back, hair slicked

into a knob, sweat gathered

at the edge of my face. I stare

at myself in the mirror, but I see you. Your

dark eyes glinting at me, your

lips running with stories, smiles, and sweet

kisses at the edge of my

hairline, sweaty or not. You laugh as if

there is no worry in this world but this

moment. You look at me as if

I am your world. You kiss me

as if the world will end tomorrow.

I walk, you walk with me, lacing your

fingers through mine, like a vine

wrapped around a rose. We grow

until the gardener, Life, sees Time and detaches

you from me. My rose then shipped back,

in a box stamped ‘fragile’ across the Atlantic to my roots.

They don’t feel as lovely as you wrapped around me.

I find myself smiling at the memory, vine & rose.

My arms lift over my head as I present myself

and take fourth position. I wake up with tears,

two twin streams, forming pools

on the edges of my pillow. I’m still fragile.

Anna Hammond