is lemon bitters on a blistered tongue
rivers running through your eyes
that hollow you out
refill you with lost treasure

years of forgotten giving
wrapped in brown paper
loosely tied and handed back to you
thanks but no thanks

I don’t need you
until I do and when I do
get your fill ’cause
train’s coming through again.

And then, as quick as a spring sky
grays, it’s a kiss on the cheek
a hand squeezed, a still moment spun between
the rushing wind.

Maybe it’s this way to prepare you for
the leaving.

Julianne Palumbo’s poems, short stories, and essays have been published numerous literary journals. She is the author of Into Your Light (Flutter Press, 2013) and Announcing the Thaw (Finishing Line Press, 2014), poetry chapbooks about raising teenagers. She is the Founder of Mothers Always Write, an online literary magazine about motherhood.

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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.