A Glove

I lost a glove
and kept the other,
my life on hold
through snow and storm,
one hand cold,
the other warm.
I lost a glove
and while the other
hung on to me
for all I’m worth,
the first roamed free
over the earth.
I lost a glove
and found another,
another sheath,
a shade of leather
that seemed to breathe
a different weather.
I lost a glove
and it found other
flesh to clad,
crimes to commit,
although I had
no hand in it.
I lost a glove
and, sad, the other
at the breach
would try to clap
but couldn’t reach
across that gap.
I lost a glove
then lost the other.
I’d no more forms
that could withhold
the snows, the storms,
the perishing cold.

from Early Hours (Gallery, 2015) © Justin Quinn 2015, used by permission of the author and the publisher.

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