Monday, 10 April 2017

A poem by Geoff Anderson

Two


At night, I was held together,
another’s arm across my chest

—one who learned in school
to bind like and unlike things

using a little glue and math—
lace to Valentine’s Day cards,

formula to shapes. Our lessons
were not so different; I fashioned

father from mountain
on ruled loose-leaf in English,

muscled the rock,
the balding summit.

Education is more about
seeing the relationship

than accepting it as true.
Waking up alone, I left

my hand on the outline
of a body until I could not

find her warmth anymore,
before I knew it love.









Geoff Anderson crosses the tracks, the floodwall, the bridge in Columbus, OH. His work appears or is forthcoming in places like Outlook Springs, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and Lunch Ticket.

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