apostrophe

apostrophe poem

you change like patterns in the rain

like paper dolls cut and traced on cardboard

with dull scissors by a child’s clumsy hand.

so many seconds here with you beside me

and inside me and I lose myself sometimes

in the hazy lines where you end, if you do,

and I begin, if I do.

but you surprise me still you know

when you break, when you bleed,

when you shake yourself loose of sleep one more time

against the weight of gravity pulling you back down.

and I love you for your quirks, you know –

for your feet, too skinny and too arched under legs

which are long enough to be graceful, although you aren’t,

and the asymmetry of the strange shape to your ears;

your too-thin wrists and bones suggest fragility,

without elegance.

and your scars so permanent I’d never know you without them

or your birthmarks, freckles, moles that mix with the ink on your back.

you change like patterns in the rain

on the window, as I watch you,

your skin pressed flat against the glass.