Boundaries
The table is set.
There is a chair
in front of the ficus.
There is a man
in a sweater looking at a
girl in a dress.
We come to the altar.
The crowd wants
to dance with itself,
it is longing for the time
to be announced.
Love blooms like a rash
across our bodies and we
pause to examine the veins
of each red, insistent petal.
They keep still and vibrant
as inveterate stars.
For dinner there’s something
with garlic and on my way home
in the dark
on the highway
I can feel the flinch
between this world and the other.
C.K. Dawson has her MFA in poetry from Seattle Pacific University. Her work has appeared in Verily Magazine, Serving House Journal, Poetry International and Reflection Magazine.