Incongruous Us
for D.A.

might have to drop my study of her write where it is

always was a delicate matter, across thin ice
has she fallen through or have I or have we both

who to pull us out
or have we fallen into porridge, into what was too hot

she is a baby really in a woman’s body
ages possibly before her head catches up

with her hips, with her heart, racing as fast as a horse

was her horse chasing mine or was my horse chasing hers
unable to recall who was before, who was behind

unable to blame her leaping from the train, from the flames
in her uniform, with her backpack, full of school books


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:32 p.m. 22.08.09