Sunday, February 24, 2013

fist (under the rug)

fist (under the rug)

poured into a frosted pint glass from the freezer
the beer ribbons amber-brown billowing a head
caramel-colored like a Dr. Pepper ice-cream float

sometimes my childhood rises before me in a glass

everyone is home and i drink alone as usual
waking to a fog-wrapped morning replacing
the sudden blanket of snow from a week before

i have lived my life
like a fist raised in protest
denying my palms and fingertips
the world they desire to hold and touch

my arm numb because
once a secret you cherished
i am now dirt swept under the rug
as you have begun putting your house in order

sunshine rises like a gentle hand
to wipe away morning's fog-mask

and the day warms like the promise
of spring waving just past winter

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