Lunch

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman

Exes and seas

span time zones,

sweet chains of unwrapped figs,

peeled path-smooth,

tight with hunger.

Meet me in that place

known only as splendid,

split open all the way,

speckled and ripe;

stay naked-close ―

on the lunch side of the bed.

tk, September 2012

R.A.D. Stainforth's lovely reading:

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Pearl

R.A.D. Stainforth in his black and white world...and so on...

Waves come
out of nowhere,

swirl before

I can steady myself.

You pick me up,

hurl me hard,

somewhere far,

deep as Shetland,

where I land

naked on a beach,

a clam on the sand,

heady with the scent

of seashells, swallowed

in chowder come.

tk/ August 2012

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image by Francesca Woodman