Something Like We Did III
The way you
would squint
at an aphid
on your wrist
they watched me—
the way someone
watches a baby bird
fallen to the ground
careful, like children
finding a fish alive
in the grass.
The one who
spoke had clearly
practiced, but
the odd stops
and blue notes
shaped the inflections
so, for a moment
English was played
like a marimba:
something about
speed without
motion—travel
like memory—
as if space itself
were obsolete.
Like testing a fabric,
the silent one tugged
my lip. I opened
both hands:
palms flat, fingers
straight: they
watched as if
my answer
would appear
Structure
35 lines · 35 stanzas