Annah Browning: Taken

It would be good to be received
as a hat, taken into a lap, never intended
for showing. Cleverly under the table, I could

wait for God to arrive, rumble over
like a waitress, like a plane. It would be good

if there was a disease I could catch,
make me nicer. It would be good
to be a disease. Hold onto someone’s

lungs. Ferretting the soul out. Caught your face
in a sliding window, with the thaw out. Sun
was bright on our pathway. You stepped into it,

and I could not. There are gestures I have never
had. Never had it coming, door sealing up behind
my back. Elevator rocketing up into the sick,

the air nobody breathes. A buttonhole is my enclosure.
A buttonhole is the space I need. Close around
my finger, like a bite. I miss your mouth. I miss it

like a private part. I miss resting against it,
waiting for you to come on out.

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