By Eve Messervy
Manus, enclosed in her mind and
four walls,
staring out at the sky slowly
changing shades as the world rests without her.
Mano, enclosed in his mind
In four walls of packed people like sardines
In foreign waters, drinking like fish,
A fellow stranger
And the monotonous routine of Manus commenced
grip tight on the bus home, a fellow stranger
who is not a stranger.
To that a smile snatched her
so fleeting, she remembered
the transient Manus in Mano
and it rained, he loved the rain.
Manus, in, Mano, Manus in Mano again
On a steep alley in a bar,
Gushing water mollified Manus
Smoking like chimneys, of
a home with a balcony
and she caught a glimpse of herself
in the mirror.
She liked the rain too,
but there was a line drawing of that balcony
on her chest
in harsh charcoal that bled,
it was high in the heavens that she couldn’t quite reach so
she folded the drawing nicely, and
put it under her pillow.
Art. It was art, it was poetry that kissed her
head
it was holy water for a priest
but remember, he liked the rain, so
Manus
Mano
Once again,
For their fate was hapless from the start.
