Saturday, November 25, 2017

He Cannot Pronounce Her Name (Day 311)

Unsayable, a scree of consonants
piled up at the base, he cannot
pronounce her name. Love, dear,
darling, forever come simply and
easily as sugar in coffee, 
the way she fixes it for him 
in the morning while he showers, 
rinsing off the night’s dreams, 
that dark oily scent clinging 
to the steam, making his mouth 
water like it does when he wants
 to kiss her unglossed lips 
the way they are in the morning 
when she wakes up, rosy 
and puffy with sleep, warm 
as a winter fire after a midnight walk 
on new snow, when the world 
glows bright as a full moon, 
and the drifts shimmer, casually
heaped against the fences,
already pitted, collapsing 
like those consonants at the end 
of her name, which he cannot, 
could never, pronounce.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Skeeze via Pixabay