by Ute Carson
New Reader Magazine NRM, Issue 6, Summer 2019

We live in each other like Russian dolls,
only our contours and edges are soft.
The shells in-between are translucent
and memories resound through the spaces around.
My lover's footsteps reverberate from his bed to mine,
and I feel the temperature of our embrace.
Saliva pools in my mouth from his succulent kisses.
I smell my mother's straw-blond hair
and the mossy sour breaths of my babies.
My grandmother's fingers tenderly comb my locks
and my father walks toward me erect and whole,
unmarred by wounds of war.
Life stories are recorded in the crevices of my brain
and emotions bounce back from hollows in my body.
I am filled with the echoes of my loved ones.

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