A poem by Rebecca Bird
Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle Considering the 1 2 3 4 of her digits and the ziggurat of carpal bones: all columned cashews and peashells, pumice-stones and corner-moons, her hand should not be too hard to hold. In the morning, it passes me coffee, points out the Sunday funnies in the paper. At the beach, her hand cups like a sieve … Continue reading A poem by Rebecca Bird