I Have No Face, But Yours. A poem by Amantine Brodeur

The hours decline.
The bloodline of any
language I may have
dilutes into fear. I wake
to longing
I hear its muffled growls;
it suffers hunger-pangs
for safety.

I stare into the clear
blue of a cloudless
and know
stepping out
into its breath
could kill
me, or her,
or them; young children
running, unaware
in their momentary thrill, – after birds.

Distance is kept
in the passing brush
of our different
lives and it takes
a moment
beyond the masks
where eyes
of mothers,
not strangers meet, to know,

I have no face
yours and yours
is none
other, than


Amantine Brodeur’s most recent work can be found at Pink Plastic House, 100 Words of Solitude, DeepTimeVol1 from Black Bough Poetry and in “iamb. Seen And Heard”, Volume Three

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