Under the white foam,
the child I am
is restless, until
an almost dissident knee
emerges from washing.
The pink knee has slowly
slid over the water's horizon,
thanks to my hidden heel,
pressing on metal with a cunning purpose:
a soap-scented bluff,
rising like an unconquered island hill.
I walk two of my proud red fingers on it
as if the flesh belongs to me.
(C) Jacqui Thewless March 22nd,2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem