I will let poetry

be the portal

literary tunnel

of our story

 

A small hand

makes

an “O”

my thumb almost touching

it partners

around your middle finger

 

That’s how we walked

together

after the day

we became

two.

 

 

 

Like the palm of a giant

Where I could always find you

nestled

New Yorker

Gin

on ice

 

That’s where I ran –

The bee sting on my toe

The bully, so mean

The nothing,

The quiet

My stringy hair between your hands and a kiss

goodnight –

 

10 yr old legs crisscrossed at the wrist

watching Gilda Radner, Sid Ceaser

I could not leave until I understood the best of the

best –

 

It can’t possibly be empty

though it is

Ottoman upside down

in the palm of the giant.