I am told and I like being told some things –especially when the wandering steals over me as a hand. I want to say that it is precious, but it is scarfed around the crux. This is a battle with the back. With the back of days. With the back of calves and hands and necks and sides and how will it feel then?
I can remember the liking, but I fear it. Yes. Yes. Yes, of course. That’s it. It’s like being a child: the being picked and picked on. Call this delicious, but it is a delicacy that starts with vomit. It is the only knot I got stuck on. And I am stuck and I am whole-heartedly holed. It is an unknown that I have no thing for. Nothing at all.
And, I recently discovered that I don’t have a dictionary. It is okay. I will stay mannered and functional and wondrous in the back of being, and I will remember what it was like, back there, in the happy hour.
© Umansky 2013
blog of poet, leah umansky 
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