Amanda Russell

Touchpoints

Out of the wild winds we were given,
a Luna moth fell. I ran into the mess
of hail, held the smallest heart
hand-drawn in our margins.

Do you remember the day our love rekindled?
The rain that ripped then rippled
out of a New-Orleans hurricane? How I danced in it
with the neighbor’s children?

My clothes dried by themselves, but we
used to see leaves grow
greener after a rain. We used to race out
to touch them.

Long after you, I’d linger
staring straight into the many-faced world
until I could see it staring back

because when I forget my questions,
they run after me in dreams.

And there was that time they caught me
standing in the shade at a barbecue
in the backyard of someone else’s life.

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Amanda Russell (she/her/hers) is a guest editor at The Comstock Review and a stay-at-home mom. Her poems have been curated by Grand Journal, Lily Poetry Review and Euphony. Her second poetry chapbook, PROCESSING, is forthcoming from Main Street Rag. To learn about her, please visit poetrussell.wordpress.com.