Sara Truuvert

FLIT by Sara Truuvert

wrist bones
ankle bones
tendons in the forearm
you march into the kitchen
to boil an egg for your lunch
flit skip
from sink to stove

a squirrel visited my office today
he made me look up from my painting
he rustled the ivy
I took a picture, look

like the fortitude of flowers
the way you fascinate a room
wiry bird bone frame
fortified with soil from the garden
and laughter of children from a carpet

now I find myself reflecting
your hurried speech
your skinny quick hands
the way love makes you cry