Glyphs 1. You walk in heat, sun, deserts that will never prickle my skin. I step lightly through rainy chill, early spring mornings. What do we know of ourselves or each other? Scratchings on surfaces. All we can do: follow dancing figures leading down beneath rocks, hidden glimpses of color, light, long-lost life. 2. We found our way deep into bone and muscle, heart and breath. You knew me. I felt you. We rose and we set. Sun to moon. Moon to sun. Touch with stun. Body in swoon. We glowed and we shone. Our glyphs dance in stone. 3. Mark me until your tracings grow indelible, images woven over and around sinews, tendons enwrapped with touch, every gesture, suggestion of my body singing your name. Mark my words, sweet angel. This is not the end of us. 4. Go forward alone, strangers in familiar worlds, exiles from our hearts' home. I heard you. You saw me. We smiled and we shone. What took root has grown. Glyphs go deep in stone.
Carole Greenfield grew up in Colombia and lives in New England, where she works with multilingual learners at a public elementary school. Her work has appeared in such places as Eunoia Review, Solstice Literary Magazine, Amethyst Review and Dodging the Rain, among others.
Amethyst Review 