Jill Falls for Jack
       

Really, they fell from bramble-scrawled oak trees,
became snow angels without snow. Instead
they made wings from the swept scars of lawn grass.
After the mower blade cut, they tucked
green shards between armpits, against elbows.
It was still summer, but hardly, and they took turns
jumping off limbs to let the wind escape them, again
and again. On purpose they fell. Their throats scratched
as they gasped for air, first he, then she. And then he
reached over, put his lips on hers and blew breath,
mouth to mouth, as if she suffered from drowning,
as if her lungs were pails of water instead of dry,
hollow. Until she breathed in, and the wind again
made her feel like tumbling, like tumbling after.

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Copyright © 2018 Michelle Menting All rights reserved
from Leaves Surface Like Skin
Terrapin Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission