A Morning Spent On A Bench
by Lacey Smith
The strangness of your skin is a
terrible thing I find interesting
as you sit unknowing beside me.
The wood of the bench creaking like
eyes that open and shut.
I am partial to the sun's glint
as it presses reflections against your
Your lips hint at words, shy as
you turn away from the shadow
that attaches itself so discreetly
to your left cheek, the boredom
of your hands illuminated.
I think that perhaps if I were
more like maybe then I
would not be such a
nameless prerequisite, suddenly
the friction of our moving
presses skin together briefly.
I gasp but you do not jut away
at its clear inhumanity.
Author's Note: About a very brief but very tangible instance of pure human understanding with a stranger. A perfect moment, in many ways.
Posted on 12/06/2005
Copyright © 2020 Lacey Smith
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Dave Fitzgerald on 03/13/09 at 12:23 PM|
Congrats on POTD. Great write.
|Posted by Carolyn Coville on 03/13/09 at 10:48 PM|
I love the imagery this poem invokes...what a great POTD, congrats!
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 04/25/10 at 01:37 PM|
though I am late arriving to this ode and POTD, to boot, I am nevertheless fortunate to have stopped by to witness words so well placed and for all their lovely and forlorn aspect, I could nearly cry.