Lauren
by Beau Boudreaux


Not a hint, a whisper of hair
candle-lit on the windowsills
for once, the stairwell swept

so fair, down___the comforter
an enormous aquarium
and the dishes done by hand

dogs out into the wet
as you forget a necklace
on the nightstand as if

by stealth one sees
between banisters
the way water beads

I knife a path
through unfamiliar rooms
making no noise.






Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.