Our Circles

Full moon rising,

you tell me you feel her

in your uterus.

Like the tides,

do you feel heavy

or light, Corazon’?

We could not see each other,

she was cauled by clouds,

a dullness like a shadow

on my heart muscle, a dark

bird.  Red, you said,

crimson stays, naturalmente

se queda.   It’s a cell

that stays by dividing.

Like blood, you mean?

Yes, you dressed in red.

Like my mother always dressed me.

No hay nada como las madres,

there’s nothing like mothers,

it’s a continuity.

A dialogue.

Somos una fe’cula muy aproximada.

We’re almost the same starch,

cut from the same cloth.

Mothers and sons.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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