Edges Poem by Jennifer Cahill

Ocean clouds hang heavy, sunlight- cushioned,

grey blue shadows pressed up against

their bottoms. Light cuts into our kitchen,

walls painted the color of the sugar

cookies rising on the charred metal

within our oven, dotted on the hot

surface like the rippled mounds of a desert.

.

Our shapes against the late afternoon

the color of egg yolk collapsing and spreading

into our house. We are aside our piano,

whose songs teem into the salty air

tunneling through windows, narrow

fingers nippily pressing the keys,

their hands pointed like the profile of a spirit.



Evening yields the thick air that wraps

around the room and turns it the tint of violets.

The retreating day tugs at us, drapes over our house.

We are now silhouettes standing on sand and sea.



We are fading into these edges, washing away

the ends untied, and threaded, rose and hummus

colored strings fingering the sharpened sky

padding our days slipping into tomorrow.