It wasn’t meticulous

A contemporary poem from E.B. Johnson.

Photo by Phoebe Strafford on Unsplash

it was inarticulate; 
it was every bit less
than a miracle that 
she wasn’t blessed
by the miserable.

cap-top. hard lace.
little more rhythm
than the last place 
when he tried to
fold her under.

not an offer of the
willing; a taking of
the damned. grain
on the edge of the
dust storm to hand.

they didn’t keep it
up. how could she?
he …