Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

Pinhole
By Barbara Siegel Carlson
 

I found a stain on my pillow,
a purple freckle.
Every night I rubbed it awake.
Inside the stain was another
and another
darker, deeper.
It wasnít a stain but a pore
of imperceptible dimension
that I couldnít pry open.
I canít tell you why
that thread-less place
mattered so much.


Copyright © 2020 by Barbara Siegel Carlson.