I stuffed your hair
in my jacket pocket.

Stroked its feathers and told stories
about a dark snorting horse

the birds watch and the flies heckle.
I still get the knots inside

when I stroke. The knots telling
me about the parts of the body

and how they can hurt.
How easy it is to hurt and lose–

be alone and forget
how to not be alone.

I’m all wrong.
Wrong in the head

but so right in the heart.

All I can do is walk to the river,

walk into wetness.
Until my hands depend on the cold

fish to run through them.
Until my body turns

into a stone flung deeper.
Until my lungs, arms, and legs

can no longer be quiet
and start to play all at once.

Sarah Levine
Latest posts by Sarah Levine (see all)
  • Knot - September 23, 2013