The Let-Down

Paula Bohince

Pitter-patter of its little feet: morning

awakening against shutter. Someone in bed, signaling

C’mere. When the kiss opens, tips into

that mindless place. Wisteria druggy on a spear-tipped gate.

Stone pine grown accustomed to the city, protecting

the swollen verandas. Shyness. Flood of

feel-good in the stream. Then the inability to feel the glint of it,

pitiable pinch of Was once. The phantom

suckle. Sensation of being filled, of filling up, a perfume

the wisteria—April’s ache—conducts.

Paula Bohince is the author of three poetry collections, most recently Swallows and Waves.
Originally published:
September 27, 2023


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