National Poetry Month

[brigdh]

Ain't No Cure by Rishma Dunlop

I slice oranges in the kitchen.
The countertop worn, notched
with the story of the knife.

I've been reading Ovid's "The Cure for Love."
You circle my waist with your arms —
kiss the back of my neck.
I remember who we were —
the girl and boy on the front porch
cooling our heels on our way
to the grave.
We believed we could make something
in the dark.

Comments

[eglantine-br.livejournal.com]

Wow. That one is so brief and perfect. Leaves so much unsaid. It is a poem that trusts the reader.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Yes! I really liked it too, and the way the title works as a part of the poem.