Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #185
Her Hair Was Wet
by Belinda Roddie
Her hair was wet, and her skin smelled like peach
just plucked from an orchard. I held her in
my arms and lifted her so she could reach
the cabinet to get a jar of gin.
We drank hard liquor together, our throats
tightening, and our words locked up inside
a figurative box. Outside, the boats
were sailing in their parade, endless pride
in their captains' hearts. My stomach heavy
from the booze, I let my rough fingers brush
the stumps of where my love's legs used to be
before the accident. She let me touch
each scarred and battered part of her, and yet
there was no comfort she could ever get.
by Belinda Roddie
Her hair was wet, and her skin smelled like peach
just plucked from an orchard. I held her in
my arms and lifted her so she could reach
the cabinet to get a jar of gin.
We drank hard liquor together, our throats
tightening, and our words locked up inside
a figurative box. Outside, the boats
were sailing in their parade, endless pride
in their captains' hearts. My stomach heavy
from the booze, I let my rough fingers brush
the stumps of where my love's legs used to be
before the accident. She let me touch
each scarred and battered part of her, and yet
there was no comfort she could ever get.
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