Monday, June 20, 2011



A lifetime of rain inside you,
I measured your pulse while

you slept.  Can’t believe your wrist’s
width  sometimes.  How do you hold

anything up or in?  Today
should remain sunny,  a slight chance

of showers after dinner.  It depends
on the salad dressing and silence

on the couch between slow
chewing and evening news.


I promised the moment would keep
if folded with neat creases in a box.
You misunderstood me and turned
your arms in tight, your elbows
pinched against your stomach as if
I might place you inside a small
            and cardboard thing.

About Chad Redden:
Chad Redden avoids leather like everyone else these days, watches his water intake, breathes in a steady pattern, and smiles when you look him in the eye. Nothing suspicious about him at all.  He also edits NAP (  Twitter: @cwickredden

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