I don't want a hundred, I just want one

I buried
my heart beneath
your walls
the only place
I ever felt
at home
�"Q
postcard-long
                  love note
to an elegant laundress
�"letter in her hands
never! dirt beneath
the nails

gravel
in her mouth,
single-minded
chewing
a pounding gavel

while she
bleaches socks
and hand-ker
chiefs �"
her camera stares
on the mantle
Cyclops of the still-life

her husband
left his job in Paris
to become
a cheese farmer
                              (with goats!)
 in Nepal
spending days
that hang on the horizon
from clothespins
swinging

he wipes the drip
from his mouth
to his sleeve
                                  (et voila!
                                   milk mustache transference!)

reminded
of the soft skin
of his laundress

raises
his hand
to his head
film reel shooting
in reverse
a winking projection
on the wall:
                      of a pair of shadows
drawn in negative space
fighting&kissing

next frame, please
him and her
applying his goat-milk lotion
feeling her underneath
his hands
 strong sinews
formed
from the soapy cast-off
of clean cloth
                    
the projector dies
just like the dial tone
after phone conversations
that curl
send for you soons
down the cord

reaching out
into the
ether for
either

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

I found this poem really interesting read as the words dropped down delicately, nice