Feb 1
by Kait Mauro
He touched my forehead so lightly - his right hand, me on the left washing coffee mugs in the sink, to signal he needed to open the cupboard I was standing in front of, eye-level. On our wedding day he carried all of the furniture out of our small bedroom, created a sanctuary. This is what I need - strong and soft in equal parts.
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Author's Note
I've resolved to write a poem about each day this month. Thoughts? Suggestions? Is it awful? Is it too sentimental/precious? Is it too much? Is it not enough? How can I make it stronger?
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Fine prose poem, Kait.
Always enjoy your work, Kait.
Beautiful, Kait.
"He tapped my forehead lightly . . ." ?
Cut "to signal" ?
Because I have just found a copy of Baudelaire's Paris Spleen, I can also recommend that on Valentine's Day, you treat Death, although that might strike some as sentimental in another direction.