I chew on the accident –
my swollen lip
that you bit last night
when we shared oranges,
sucking them down
end to end, lip to lip,
burning and breathing in
African incense.
Outside, like fresh fire,
sleet cracked the ground,
and god made more
than a dusting. Later,
we sat on the metal swing
and rocked. At this show,
my toes barely touched
the porch. With fingertips,
you played my hands,
pressing into my life lines.
I gripped the chains.
Wind whipped my hair.
I pumped harder,
and we rose higher,
until everything rattled.
I hung on like a hangnail.
C.A. MacConnell
