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Lexington Poetry Month
article by
Lisa Miller Henry

When I perch on the edge of my bed
to tie my shoes,
I sense you standing
erect between my legs.  

Staring down at worn carpet,
your hand ensnares my neck.
“Look at me,” you demand. 
Your grip tightens.
“I want you to look at me.”
I lift.
Your eyes tether me
as you thrust into my life.  

And every time I sit
to manipulate laces
I am bound.

5 responses to “Knots”

  1. Melva Sue Priddy says:

    What you describe can be both painful and exquisite at the same time.

  2. Jim Lally says:

    good poem many layers…the sense of thrust…if not for knots, then what

  3. S.L. says:

    Love this…it is oddly enchanting for such harsh words.

  4. lost love is the john jacob jingleheimer schmidt of memories… there’s no forgetting it and once recalled all you can do is ride it out…

  5. Edelweiss Meadows-Millstone says:


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