Mi pana

One glimpse of you, waving limply
as you zip through the double doors,
my equilibrium is gone.
I know it’s the only greeting
I’ll get from you today.
I sit behind you without speaking,
staring at the dark hairs that curl
against the nape of your coppery neck,
eyes flickering to your key-cut profile
each time you turn your head,
remembering how it used
to be to laugh with me.
We held hands and prayed;
I stole impious glances downward
to see the shapes of our fingers twined,
relishing the warmth of your grasp.
What happened to us, mi pana?
What happened?
My palms reach upward, outward,
my hands unheld and empty.



spring 2010

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Allison Siburg

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