They want to wrap you around their necks to keep warm.
You, their tender scarf, the messy bun atop
their tender heads. You, the over-sized sweater they slip over their swooning heads
to picnic with you. And you, you’re not even trying,
not licking around the air for admiration, no, not you—
You are too humble, so you blush, and they know you’d never do anything
but tuck the hair behind their ears, blow far away kisses in their direction…
You walk the way angels walk: fly. Your wispy sideburns, wings.
You’re the local, raw organic honey in their throats, and the throat,
that’s you too—the red flesh clicking your praises. You’re the wrinkles
in your own corduroy, your own hands in your own pockets.
Your face, clearly a miracle of twinkling Anglo-Saxon eyes…
Even my slouchy, hip, caramel boots are you, but when you see me
traipsing down the street you call out to me,
gently, a: hey you. I raise my hand to wave and instead bow my head
to scratch a raising eyebrow
Natasha Murdock currently lives in Gilbert, AZ. She is currently completing her MFA in Poetry at Arizona State University. Her work has been published nationally, including such magazines as So to Speak, The Cobalt Review, 4Chambers Magazine, and now, DM du Jour. She unashamedly loves Harry Potter, experimental feminist poetry, and macaroni & cheese. Bienvenue au Danse, Natasha!