Friday, 17 July 2015


Holding the covetous words,
squirming inside my palm,
working out their little holes,
peeping the light as it lingers
between my fingers.

Like trickles of water they escape,
broken pieces flitting past skin,
dropping in to the conversation,
surely too small to taste
or feel within?

Silences blanket them,
shadows of open mouths,
glimmers of light touching a face,
heads raised to leave a space,
big enough for the sun to fall in.

All the while, as drama outplays life,
the main body of words still in my hand,
wrenches side to side,
pulling the under of my skin,
tugging loose from pink, glowing lands
held in place with sinew and grace.

Too big to fit they bulge,
my hands altogether and suddenly too small,
not even hands anymore. I stretch,
fingers desperate, skin shivering
and then words
a shower, unburdened
and finally free of me. 

©Amanda J Harrington 2015

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A story somewhere