image via pinterest.com
Hands
tremble
reach then stall
knuckles turn white
forks scrape thin plates, loud
bread goes stale, candles melt
wine rings bloom like raw, fresh wounds
a spoon circles the same cold soup
fingers tap apologies on wood
no one reaches for anything that breaks
An etheree is a very precise, structured poem. It does not require rhyme or any specific subject. The meaning supposed to unfold in the structure, which is: ten lines total, with the syllable count increasing by one in each line.
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