Jumping

From What She Said, © Margaret Wesseling 2012

Jumping off the cliff last time
you were with me you were not with me.
Your hand across my back all the way down.
My dog's face by the door. A train
running through Nordic forests. Pain.

The sound of a train splitting wood.
Your hand and the pillow. The pillow
and my face going down. Pain followed me
and I reached to stroke my dog's face.
Your hand on my back. I wrapped myself
in my dog's face, her eyes, your hand,
your eyes, your breath, the smell of oranges.
Pain followed. Your hand on my back.
The smell of sleep, deep forests, a train.
We jumped in. Trees.

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