Tuesday, February 23, 2010

poem || Annabelle Clippinger


You said “fat,” you said “rainbow” applied to rain
brought out of this sky, this sky fragile, bled
for a cap with a swoosh on it. You said “capital.”

I gave four knocks. Doors opened. You said “white”
you said “pretty.” I brushed my hair one hundred
times. I said “pajamas” you said ”pie, ” you said

“muff.” I said “I need you.” “I know” you said.
The door needs someone to enter it.

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