Poem by Monica A. Hand   •   Photo by Henry Avignon
 

 
Zuihitsu on the lover who it might as well be spring
 

What is the order of things undone?  The thread unravels into a pile on the floor. 
Beautiful installation: thread into a mountain into a mountain of dust a mountain of  

Bleu et gris et blanc 

Every season you conjure my feet 

After sex we pretzel no salt no mustard just stickiness before we are drunk you want me
to put you in my mouth you lie under me very still it is your way you talk marriage
children with someone else some other continent some other universe you know I’ve
already had these things 

I get up from the bed your smell for now enough 

Sew from the bottom up each signature tight inside before the next fold inside and
outside use a bone folder an even number of signatures press each signature before
sewing the next follow the thread be careful not to pull against the grain don’t be afraid
to undo the thread 

Sewing with cross-stitch bikini-cut keloid seams 

Be careful of a man who smiles all the time
    mother’s proverb 

You hardly do and when you
 
Love me love me say you do let me fly away with you for my love is like the wind wild
is the wind
    sing Nina 

Daddy a would a could a should a gonna man like you 
But I should never think of spring cause that would surely break my heart in two

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