Rationed Oranges

Braided hands study
pock-marked skin rub it silent

my tongue, muddy and swollen

fingers
unthread  her daughter’s eyes
measure
the curve of each spine

our
conversation cobbled between bowls
of porridge, loads of laundry

upturned shells
lay rind to flesh hollowed
of life

close-fisted shadows
slide across
linoleum
I turn in the opposite

direction escape the shifting
light she gathers
Roman numerals stows them
like stones in her apron pocket

their weight
like rationed oranges
or coal for warmth

Published in Surface & Symbol (Scarborough Arts Council), Vol. 15, No. 5, June 2004.

From “Something to Hide” a chapbook of poetry by Valerie Poulin; finalist for Shaunt Basmajian Chapbook award, 2003.