Ain'T No Cure Poem by Rishma Dunlop
Ain'T No Cure
I slice oranges in the kitchen.
The countertop worn, notched
with the story of the knife.
I've been reading Ovid's "The Cure for Love."
You circle my waist with your arms—
kiss the back of my neck.
I remember who we were—
the taste of us sweet and dangerous─
the girl and boy on the front porch
cooling our heels on our way
to the grave.
We believed we could make something
in the dark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/1/2024 3:05:18 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Another wonderful poem which is so wonderfully descriptive and tells such a sweet story. Really like this.