My Love Isn't

by Amy King

Amy King

Love the way you keep:
I'm a child when it comes
to sickness,
I've been in diapers
for a year now
wishing for mom's
correction of
the misuse my guts
charge my heart with
racing every time I
turn the corner
to sleep and awaken
half past the past
broken with ills
that clamor at
needles moving,
knitting out limbs
to stay warm with,
wrap around
a lantern love lit,
torso fire skinned
on the water rolling
through the mouthly eye,
a gaping stare
from lips that spell
the souls dragging
freshly-hewn people
mountains apart,
the inches
we crawled yesterday's
terrors against,
upon stitched horizon
who smiles
back at the palms
that speak such spirit
when pierced becomes
us, our very boots
we dance jigs within, we
dance the slog
until our feeble hearts read
names tattooed
on the sleeve's inner beast:
Be and be not afraid, O kindred.

Last updated June 30, 2015