Submit your pitch to our Live Storytelling Event



Ona Gritz

Left, my bright half, gets all of it…
soft sharp prickly wet lined.
But press your head against my right shoulder,
I sense weight but no warmth. Your cheek,
to my right touch, stubble free,
whether or not you shave.
Under my right fingers your silver hair
holds no silk, nor can I feel it part
into single strands. I’ll tell you
how I know you in the dark.
Left whispers the details.
Right listens and believes.