He said I sleep like an unborn child, naked, <br />with knees drawn to belly, hands clasped <br />palm to palm, and held tightly together <br />by thighs clasped tightly together, by instinct. <br /> <br />He said he lifts the sheet from my skin, <br />turns the lamp to a shadow maker, <br />and watches my dreams rise and fall <br />from his worn chair, best used for reading. <br /> <br />I said I am clasped, not an open book. <br />He said he has read me, front to back, <br />and he asked my permission to write <br />the final chapter, just before I left.<br /><br />Shirley Alexander<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-position-2/
