.................................
and if there were no nuns
.................................

and if there were no nuns
would that mean there was

something else
like my eyes were lasers

no one's held my breasts
cupped like a bouquet in
trembling silent hands
for what may be years now

my sense of time
is knitted up in my
sense of touch

unravelling
it spins out myself
to the lengths of
monologues

when was it
i stood on a frozen stoop
watching stars move
at speeds only available
to the sober

my lips dry and uncouth
they stumble over my tongue
and i look down

i would like to
rock back and forth
as i wait

but i'm never sure
if the ticket is
one-way

.................................
Mere Smith
.................................

 
Copyright © Mere Smith
March 1996

...a poem in this room by Hillary Joyce...
The way back home
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