by Lauren Abney

       

Lost in translation

Marginalia,
careful meter & spilled ink
drip from my parched tongue;

Crumpled, damp bedsheets
Wrap around the willow roots
To hold its black heart.

Maybe, the sun left
long before we even learned
how to look behind.

There are hands upon
Hands upon hands upon hands
But no one's touching.

Drop a piano.
We breathe unbearable thoughts—
Yet, the wind sighs, love


Lauren Abney

Lauren Abney is from Evansville, Ind. A high school English teacher, she earned her BA at the University of Southern Indiana, was the editor-in-chief of FishHook Vol. 6, and is published in Sun & Sandstone.