You made me tea
while I shook the rain from my jacket.
You stooped to fit into the kitchen,
but handled the cups as if they'd been
the fontanelles of two young sons
whose picture sits in the hip of your 501s.
We spoke of - what? Not much.
You weren't to know how your touch
with the teaspoon stirred me,
how the tendons of your wide, divining hands
put me in mind of flight.

You wouldn't have known
when you bent to tend a plant
that your shirt fell open a smile's breadth.
You parted the leaves and plucked
a tiny green bud. Best to do that
with the early ones, you said.
I thought of the salt in the crook
of your arm where a fine vein kicks.
Of what it might be like to know
the knot and grain and beat of you;
the squeak of your heart's pips.

~ Tiffany Atkinson
from Kink and Particle



gz said...


SL said...

gz said it best....sigh

red dirt girl said...

well said, ladies

Anonymous said...

Sigh, too, I guess. I have no idea what this poem is about.

Hi mule friend!

red dirt girl said...

Haahaa! To me it is about love and desire ...

Hi Dave!

Tim said...

When the woman you Love records this poem for you, you will understand exactly what it means.

red dirt girl said...

Hi Tim,

I hope the woman you love has given this poem to you.

And yes, she loves you deeply.