Insides by Aquinas

The lungs of who you are betray the bones of what you’ve become. / I could carry you in my chest for as long as I hold my breath, / but that would be too long.

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Knife by Claire Askew

You’re a half-shut knife, the woman / in the neat scarf says.  I’m looking / at the miniature bolts that hold / her natty glasses in the shape / of her face. 

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