angela felsted

 

 

under waning stars

 

i trusted him.

he had gentle hands,

ones hed hold to my

head like earmuffs

in the bitter cold.

 

so much tenderness in

his callused palms.

so much warmth as

he wove his fingers in

mine, led me to a copse

of trees, slid his hands

beneath my coat.

 

friends, he called us

in the hushed fervent

voice of a preacher,

clasping my body to

his, front against front,

like a god fearing man

prays palm against palm.

 

our shoes made

circles in the dying

leaves. our friendship

dying with them.     

 

 

Angela Felsted is a musician, poet, and nature lover. Her work has appeared at www.thechristianpoet.org, in church newsletters, and on her website. She lives with her husband and four children in Northern Virginia.



 

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