Moving closer, her slack white fine-knit tshirt sags
jauntily over her
spare, muscled frame.
Comfortable, at home in her bones and sinews
Filling her space between
the bulk and hammer, strong-tongue barrel of her husband
and the zealous, eager sprouting of her two daughters.
They move
A triangle of unselfconscious strength
Taking their space
Breathing their air
Moving across batwing airport carpet.
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He movie-star slouches against the gray-white speckles
Sports jacket clean
Beige paints
Black bag, balding head.
His strength is in his neck, leaning forward,
not in his chest or hands.
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Written returning from a trip to Texas.
Copyright 04.09 Jonathan Reuel.
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