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published by Writing in a Woman's Voice


From under gray skies

on a raft somewhere

in the middle of our ocean,

from the wide Sargasso Sea

of our bed—

my body on his,

his body on mine—

he spread a net,

line by line,
of what there is to say.

He has so many
different thoughts
about us,

he said,
that it's like
he's weaving,

one line at a time,
all the threads
of this and that
and why not and what if
and who when
and what where.

But there's never
enough time,
he said,
never enough
of my flesh,

he said,
in his mouth.

© 2014 Lisa Segal

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