13thWR

A MINUTE FALLS AND MELTS

on my hand, turning
the lines of my palm into
tributaries of a bantam river,

people peering up at me
through frozen spider webs,
circles like backs of bell crickets.

Drops across my skin,
the unhurried spreading
of a sandalwood fan:

a chorus of girls pull
petals from black
orchids and let them fall.

- Joelle L. Renstrom