Palm
You keep turning up in my dreams
like a penny, worth less than the old,
but shinier. I am glad to hold you
in my warm hand and
turn you face up, stare into your
eyes looking at me. Hello, I say,
and you say it back to me, like the gypsy
in the song
who disappears at the end.
I vow never to spend you
even in this
unrequited bliss field
with all the shades drawn down.
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From Spell by Ann Lauterbach. Used with permission of Penguin Books. Copyright 2018 by Ann Lauterbach.