They want to tell you
stories of stark stairs
and stubbed toes
childbirth, that impressible

yawn, the white stucco
on beached knees.
Summer skin indented
with well-worn bruises

and the savory insect
bite. We are swell.
Let’s collect our bodies
in the corner, offer

the un-mirrored perspective
of each other. Our scars
are field notes. Tiny tributes
of the way before.

Tired traveler, know
your body holds you
and the way you bump
through life.

Find the love note
next to the scapula.

Rebecca Connors is a poet living and writing in Boston, MA.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Imprint

  1. Eileen Cleary says:

    I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed the language and sentiment of the lovely poems written by Rebecca Connors.

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