Seventeen: A Moment

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Seventeen: A Moment by Liz Rosenberg      

How delicate he was, how eerily long-

legged, crouched by the heater in my childhood bedroom,

the red glow of its coils our only light:

illuminating his flanks, his jockeys

shining in the gloom of that miniature theater.

I wanted to reach out and stroke his leg

from top to bottom,

to cry and run away.

Like two animals by a fire,

we stayed crouched in the darkness,

eye to eye.

Liz Rosenberg and Nerve.com