It Wasn’t

by Terese Coe

It wasn’t in the wilds of Wolonga we met
in sarongs of silk and pongee,
it wasn’t the beaches of Borneo, babe
or the coral reefs under the sea.

It wasn’t your eyes with a magical light
or your hand as it brushed past my shoulder—
it was only the song you sang to me
when the fire had burned to a smolder.

It wasn’t the wind as it ruffled your hair,
it wasn’t the Nile or Karnali,
it wasn’t your face as it gazed into mine,
but the brightness on top of the karrie.

If ever we touched it was only our breath,
and the heat from you pierced me and shivered;
and somewhere a river and somewhere a death
were the treasures you stood and delivered.

“It Wasn’t” first appeared in The Everyday Uncommon.


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