Descent
June 19, 2008
The tumble of Floyd Patterson is in all of us. I look at what we had, rewinding in slow motion. One uppercut at my jaw, my teeth fidgeting in their sockets. Your moves seemed underwater. Recalling the patience of bandage. Each finger wrapped in its own baby shawl. The words in my fingers put to sleep. When we met you had your hands deep in your mid-winter pockets, holding the promise of the fight to come.
Copyright Naomi Woddis 2008
