Prayer Position

posted Aug 3, 2010

This copper bracelet,
my wrist is greening
and my hand loops around your ankle.
I work my tongue into
a protest and feel
the hollow spaces of my cheeks.
You on your side, wrist
working, swift.
I see your fingers as the glimpse
of a bird or a ball
in my periphery
or the spaces between
the cars of speeding trains.
I kiss your full palm.
What is the opposite of an offering?

Something like raking leaves.
I prefer to see them crushed
into the ground    disintegrating
like slow-dispersing clouds.
Why sweep them
into plastic bags
deny the earth
a taste?

Margaret Sullivan's poems have appeared in 5_trope. She is a student at Princeton University, where she is majoring in English.

Sullivan’s poem “If Poems Were Children” also appears in this issue.