Heather Nelson

SURROUNDED

My ring expands along with my finger;
it grows plump and swollen with me.
It stretches to hold and bind fruit
that won’t stop ripening. In this circle,
everything’s elastic, but also impressionable,
flesh deeply dented.

I’m sullenly fond
of the weight that holds me
in my orbit, tugs me towards
this house, keeps me
firmly in one place.

As heads float lightly past
my window, rounding the corner–
I’m embedded with the amber
irises, stationary as the sour green quince.

back to contents

prev
next