Alloy
by Nancy Wheaton
Our talks vary, like the woven carpet
meant to enhance my wooden floor;
the reds, deep sea blues forget
their singleness, merge into a moor
of ghosts, then of possibility, until the truth
wavering beneath my many fears emerges
as a pink sun rising, a message so couth
her meaning is undeniable. We are purged.
We measure silences with breaths. Watch the waves.
Share traumas from childhood. Recall joys.
Outside of us and because of us, love engraves
her being into hesitations, forming an alloy
of singular capacity: like your visible broken
clavicle I quietly caress, no words spoken.
Nancy Wheaton spends the summer and fall in New Hampshire and the winters and springs in Naples, Florida. Her recent move to Florida offers explorations of water in its many iterations: the sea, canals, rivers, and rain. She volunteers for Habitat for Humanity and is a docent at a small art institute. She founded Wheaton Writing Academy. She has a collection of poems in the second seacoast anthology, 10 Piscataqua Writers, and has released a chapbook, Life on the Edge, from Finishing Line Press.