Thursday, September 26, 2013

Tell (Poem 177)

I can't tell 
if it's you and me
or just you.
What it is 
that causes you 
to curl in on yourself
like a snail, small 
and mud-colored,
huddling against
the dangers of this
world, deep 
inside your shell?
Is it the wind whipping
the apple tree's branches
against the window
that frightens you?
Or the apples themselves,
laying uneaten and 
mouldering on the grass
below our window?

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

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