Not all hands that stroke shoulder,
press fingerpads into soft wrist skin,
reach out for a body to hold it
mean well.
Just because her skin is warm
doesn't mean her heart is, too.
Now it is a tomb froze over.

When she runs her nails up and down
the fabric of the spine of the woman
icily seated next to her
what does she mean?
Perhaps they are friends.
Perhaps they could kill each other.

Is her victim a scratching post,
a chalkboard
or is her long forefinger spelling into the back
saying
"all will be well tomorrow"?
And will it?

Write in groups of threes for completion,
for the circle to let us breathe,
for the stiffness of her spine up
down to the relaxation of bones deep into the chair
the tension's been gone a few hours
all will be well with my soul.