Day 21: Tupelo Press 30/30 Poetry Project ( National Poetry Month)


Your head is sunken
into the white pillow cases. I put
my chin on your shoulder and ask,
“Did Virginia Woolf sleep like this?”
Your warm socks are curled
up on the carpet. It is snowing powder
outside and young sprouts
shrivel and yellow at the edge.
“Probably not,” you say. I stroke
your backbone with my forefinger.
Your shoulders are cold and
pale under the weight of unemployment years.

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