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almost

By Karen Baumgart



I say perhaps if we’d met

in an alternate universe

and suddenly we are

swaying

on the precipice of something

achingly beautiful

and spectacularly impossible.


warmth blooms from nowhere

in layers so subtle

we almost missed each one

unfurling, soft as petals.


perhaps this is how we fell:

luminous moments

strung together like pearls,

encircling us as we drew close

and tended wounds with

the salve of gentle words.


I say if I wasn’t married

and the hot wetness of

hearts splintering

bleeds across the fringes of

space and time.


I say I love you

but somehow the wind

has whipped away the sound

of almost-words as

insubstantial as hope.



 


Karen Baumgart lives in Australia and enjoys reading, running, and baking sweet treats. She adores sparkly things, chai tea, cats, and beautiful quotes. Even after many years, she still loves her work in human services policy, especially when it creates opportunities for marginalised people to have a voice. Karen used to be an English teacher, and is quite certain that writing is, indeed, the very best therapy. Her poetry has been published in Curio Cabinet Magazine.

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