The butter slices, avocado pieces
fall into his lips, slide into the song
of sealed eyes humming; I stay
only until I know which of the two
is doing the seducing
Simple things, like spring sweat
hands meeting when motorists
show no mercy; thank you
for quickening my step, sparing me
from limbs flying aimlessly
How a coarse, blunt voice,
made rough by virile
conditioning, softens
in the trap of casual inquiry:
tell me, how is your mother doing
I even split my name
when he asked for meaning,
like a stubborn branch
I snapped it against my kneecap,
spilled a history of intemperance,
kindness; he wanted the same
for the rest of me
Even the finesse in pressing
periwinkle lace harder against my skin
while eyes reside unfocused;
when did imbalance
become sufficient
Strays jutting from either
side of his face, smoothed
momentarily with my thumbs
The way fingers trickle
to the jingle of pocket interior,
as the beggar narrows
the sidewalk for us;
the coins chime in your palms,
a sound, just a sound,
then, how easy it becomes to
forgive you and not tell you
Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad was born and raised in New York. Her poetry has appeared in The Commonline Journal, The Coe Review, Kudzu House Quarterly, The Chiron Review, and is forthcoming in Passages North, Stillwater Review, Orange Coast Review, apt, and Riprap Journal. She currently lives in New York and practices matrimonial law.
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