Present
You hide my gift under my pillow, a box wrapped for my birthday— inside, a blue opal fire ringed in gold. Your face watches mine for a sign that I know you through my sadness and loss as your arms surround me with their patient longing. My love, you must know all I know: you brought me home, in all its wooden complexities, its simple assumptions. However far away I go I know where I belong, what roof shields me from sun or rain, which rooms are mine to hide or read or bathe off the prickling day that clings to my skin so I can turn back the covers and sleep in your arms like the first time, in the bed of our making. Carol Louise Munn
from Spirits and Gnats (Kelsay Books, forthcoming)