I remember the hard line of your brow, a cold front
unwavering. You never flinched as you pushed forward
and the lines of your hip, they were islands too, breaching the night water
pushing up through sheets pooled and dark
like blood. I’d lie on my back
staring, sailing our cold ghost ship, blue and bruised
in a shared bed, close enough to caress
cautioning silence, shhh, don’t rock the boat. Reflect.
I was overboard in a blink, already sinking, settling silt
reformed as ripples receded to stillness;
my hip bones are flat, wide skipping stones.
I’m made to sink where I’ve been thrown.
© 2014 Amoret BriarRose. All rights reserved.