Susan Jo Russell: The Face

for David

It’s something like the sky,
requires the same attention, is just as likely
to be ignored. When the body

no longer longs for
its more complicated maneuvers,
its animal exertions, that doesn’t mean

it’s not still humming along under its breath.
I can give up the importance of breasts,
the smooth flesh of the stomach,

a leg thrown over a thigh
or a hand on the back of a knee—
if only a face, yours—the one I’d look for

when startled from uneasy sleep, late
for an appointment
and I can’t find my shoes.

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