Hip Poem
            -after Dorianne Laux


            Your sloping hill and valley hip.
Your wheatfield sunny afternoon hip, your narrow chisel
bike-pedal of a hip. The slender curving lurch
curled against my back as we slip into sleep, your swagger
Sunday morning skipping church
to walk downtown hip.
            The hip behind the faded pocket of your Luckys,
where I reach sometimes to swipe your keys
or knife. Your powertool twist and hammer hip. Your yoga
before breakfast hip, hip where your slow breath rests
between each drawn stretch.
            Your perfect skipping-rock of a hip. Your puddle-
jump, swing-and-spin, peach-skin hip. Grip my thumb
reaches for upon waking, languid grasp to reel
me from dream to light.
            Your swivel on the dance floor hip,
a hip for each hand to clutch, precursor to the closeness
I crave in evenings. Your sailing fore and aft
hip, your hired deckhand crows-nest of a hip.
            Your knuckle-soft, chiropractor nightmare hip.
Your always ticklish, never tucked in t-shirt hip.
Eggs for breakfast, leave the dishes, snuggle deep
under flannel not-an-inch-between-us wrinkle of a hip.
Carry me home hip.