Starla Patenaude Solitaire	back to table of contents back to main

You said, "I don't understand it, fear feeds right from my hand,
The animal seems to think it's mine.''

So we teach each other to tread lightly . . .
You nibble the crusts of your father's illusions,
I sometimes sweep the floor.

You touch cautiously, like a convict
mapping out escape routes in a dandelion field.
You strip the sheets from the bed before making love.

You talk of New York,
You talk of law school,
You talk . . .

2:00 a.m.: my legs draped over the chair,
chipped-pink toenail scraping the white linoleum
of our cold kitchen floor . . .
I quote Neruda and watch black silhouettes of trees
scratch at the moon's sallow face.
I tell you that in my next life I want to be a birch.

You shake your head, "I like my name.''

I laugh and wrap myself around you.
A bird in the hand . . .

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