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Wendy E. Braun – This Existence

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Lingering Fingers

By: Wendy E. Braun

If you were a copper penny,
I’d imprint you on my skin
between two fingers,
your face and your back.

If you were the receipt,
crumpled into my coat pocket,
I’d smooth out your edges,
etching thoughts into the margins of your white space.

If you were a letter in an envelope,
or engraved on a rotting stump,
I’d investigate your lines and the effects
of times decay and hold you to my breast.

If I were my ugly sweater and you loved me,
with all of the faded colors from the thrift store sun,
I’d gladly shed it, or assume the form of a coveted thread,
tie me around that blessed finger and forget me knot.

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Although, time has passed

and seasons have come and gone,

like railway cars

whose late passenger stands

staring – wondering if it was in fact

a blown fuse that

stopped the clock and caused

the burnt toast –

he stands

on the same old porch,

surveying the need for yearly repairs,

while fingering a new cigarette

as the smoke swirls against his face

as his thoughts rise around

the what was,

the what never was,

the will she,

might she,

does she still, and

I think to myself

how thankful

I am that he

does not,

will not,

could not know

a damn thing –

something like smoke.

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