You Are My Calendar
The smell of Sundays when you shave
Bone-handled brush sweeping over cheekbones, chin
Face smooth under my lips, fingers
I could recognize you by your skin.
Days pass, and your stubble sands my face as we kiss
Accentuate your movements, explore me
Mark days by growth, delicious rough caress
Moving to Friday’s softness again.
By Saturday the scent of wood-shavings
and sweets is submerged in your skin
Surrounds me, stains the pillows and sheets.
I breathe you in.
I mark my days by you.
|Keri Withington is an Appalachian based poet and educator. Her work has previously appeared in numerous journals and anthologies.Her first chapbook is Constellation of Freckles from Dancing Girl Press. Her second chapbook, Beckoning From the Waves, is forthcoming from Plan B Press. As well as writing, Withington is an assistant professor of English at Pellissippi State Community College. Her writing explores themes of feminism, family, and nature.|
Shannon Wolf is a British writer and teacher, living in Louisiana. She is currently a joint MA-MFA candidate in Poetry at McNeese State University. She is the Non-Fiction Editor of The McNeese Review, and Social Media Intern for Sundress Publications. She also holds an MA in Creative Writing from Lancaster University. Her poetry, short fiction, and non-fiction (which can also be found under the name Shannon Bushby) have appeared in The Forge and Great Weather for Media, among others. You can find her on social media @helloshanwolf.
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