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without a pot holder
by Jared FladelandI jerked my hand from the kettle.
A hole in my denim,
Fiery red.
I jerked my hand from the kettle.
Like the way I spun my tires
On gravel, spitting
Rocks at you as I ran
From your love.
I jerked my hand from the kettle.
Where am I now?
A kitchen?
A bench beside a football field?
Is now a day in my youth or twenty years
Slipping by?
I jerked my hand.
But you put it back on the burner. 09/22/2009 Posted on 09/23/2009
Copyright © 2026 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Frankie Sanchez on 09/26/09 at 02:37 AM i really liked the repetition of that line. it works well. this piece is a precise exploration of a complex relationship. been there all too often. |
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