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The lady beside me drips
drops from the bridge of her nose,
runnels from her forehead
A lithe blond in the back makes
it look easy, head pressed to mat
bending as told
Sweat collects in towels, clothes
I am a bottomless pit
of fluid, the rain water of continents spill
out of me, one bead at a time,
like the first burst of rain in the Garden
of Eden. I hear how it lands on a leaf,
how the apples glisten.
Kim Drew Wright has fiction and poetry in numerous journals. The Strangeness of Men, her debut collection of short fiction and prose poems won both a Silver IPPY and Finalist in USA Best Book Awards. She is a human rights activist and lives in Richmond, Virginia with her husband and three children.
