wickerworker

The twigs, pliant and young
yielded to his thin fingers
naked and pale the strips
bent in vulnerable curves
wrapping around themselves
and becoming those women
he could not hold, warped
by rougher hands, a bad
piece, never quite good enough
or molding to perfection

Reviews

[Anita B Jacques]

I love it, a great write, a sad description of a man, your poem causing my imagination to add to your poem.
God Bless

[Emily B]

oh, oh, oh

what a stunning portrait of a man