in ragged unraveling, careful Palmer penmanship abandoning the lines. I practice
a face for you, but it ends up scarified. Later, I trace your ink-whorled ridges,
a forever darkness borne in my skin. No matter how deep I set my foundations, you
pluck me up, a high-spinning hurtle which lands me, broken. It’s gotten so
I don’t even try to retrieve the pieces. Each day I learn to live with less.
You Walk By and I Fall to Pieces
(Mixed-media painting, 8x10 inches, 2017)
Copyrighted © 2017 by Lorette C. Luzajic. All rights reserved.
—Published previously in Risk Being / Complicated: Poems by Devon Balwit, Inspired by the Collage Art of Lorette C. Luzajic (CreateSpace, January 2018); poem and painting are reproduced here with permissions from both the poet and the artist.
Bio: Devon Balwit
Bio: Lorette C. Luzajic