your breath on my cheek,
as I hold you close to me,
silken infancy
it was the breeze, or
maybe the brush of your touch,
long lost, yet with me
father holds my hand
between life and death, an ache
forged in memory
©Neetu Malik
last night’s hurricane blew the roof off
pieces of felt lay on the street like bits of rubber tires
She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant room
like a feather
from a molting bird.
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