My ear curves silent when you place your hand
on the small of my back. My lip softens
with the taste of your skin.
Your index finger exhales my breath
as you trace breast to chin.
Your wrist on my hip is the point
where lucky meets good.
There were moments I wanted to leave you.
There were moments you were leaving me.
Stunningly, these were never the same moments.
I am still here,
breathing in your collarbone,
praying to the warmth of your palm.
–Tasha Bushnell (Allen County)
This poem previously appeared in Confluence, Spring 2014.
Tasha Bushnell has published poems in Confluence and Map Points. She lives in Fort Wayne, where she works at one of Indiana’s best-loved bookstores, Hyde Brothers, and serves as the Media and Technology Coordinator to the current Poet Laureate.
Indiana Humanities is celebrating National Poetry Month by sharing a poem from an Indiana poet every day in April (hand-selected by Indiana Poet Laureate George Kalamaras). Check in daily to see who is featured next!