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 (naplitmag.com). Twitter: @cwickredden