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Sally Delehant
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1,330 Readings | 9 Ratings
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Oubliette
In the knell
we looked for words.
The knock of a fork—
nothing.
Time tossed intimacy
around the kitchen
and readied on the range
a rabbit’s red meat.
How could music presume
to mimic the sea?
The cuff itself
wrapped and pounding.
If we tried to climb—
if we looked for a ladder
our kisses made the collar,
forgot us
all the same. Words
for a while wandered,
came back to dance at us
winded—
swallowed. I couldn’t
believe it hurt.
Posted 01/08/11
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