Hiroshima, 1961

Holly Singlehurst

After Yves Klein

In the street, I am warm past my summer skin,
the pavement is burning the soles of my feet.
My shadow copies me as I open my arms. When
I jump, it jumps, but it doesn’t leave the ground.
The light through my closed eyes tells me
a secret, that I am the most beautiful red.
And another, that it has travelled millions of
miles, unobstructed, to touch only my body.