Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Judith Pordon


She welcomes hello
with eyelashes that blink
in waves
and I am the shore,
the resting place for her smile.

She shrinks
with fragile breath
bolstered by a long silver cord,
as if connected to heaven.
God makes oxygen machines.

She says bye
but my stomach says
and I wonder when I return
if she'll be here.

Empty space
will wave to me.
A hurricane
with a magnitude of years.
And the richter scale of sobs
will be shooting off the charts.

Judith Pordon

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