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December 18, 2014
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Whispers on the Western Front

Photo by Ross Brinkerhoff

By Sarah Wilson

I have never been good with words

they hang heavy on my tongue like clothing lines through tenement windows

but my scars are excellent story tellers and I could talk

to the crinkles around your eyes for centuries

we kiss each other like amulets, use our bodies in place of prophets

I’ve never been good at reading between the lines

but I read your palms and came to the conclusion

that you are every word I could never find

you tell me the freckles across my shoulder blades are like Braille and only the best people can decipher my story

when our fingers intertwine, they speak so fluidly

a little like Spanish, more so French,

the kind of language that comes when two people run out of words for talking

and have to resort to feeling instead