Devotion
Let the rains come when they will. Let them fill
the copper tub, an oasis forgotten in the garden
& remembered in a flash of passion.
Let the lilacs droop, heavy as somnolent bodies,
droplets slipping down each leaf the way a dress
falls or like lips trailing across warm skin.
After bathing in the storm, a woman’s wet
footprints are woven into the staircase
by the poet who loves her, & my fingertips linger
on the page as if I could remove her & place
myself there instead. For years, I didn’t know
that lovers like this only existed in the novels
I stole from my mother. I’d savor the simmering
in my core while I studied each kiss, then I’d beg
for forgiveness, promise God I’d be stronger next time
& never open another sinful book.
I always failed. It didn’t matter if the man
snarled at strangers for looking at his beloved
a moment too long or was only good in bed.
I wanted it—him, his rage, everything. I let him
him carve out space among muscle. I let rain pool
between the ridges of my collarbone. I let stones
scrape my feet, my back—& it was almost
like love, this collision of want & weather.
Predawn
Imagine: we sleep in the bone fields of the last
remembered whales of a derelict sea. Then we wake
underwater
in the dim static folded between waves.
Imagine: we’ll light candles for the world above to see,
their small blazes
like the tendrils of dying stars
under the surface. We’ll ask sea angels to reveal their hearts,
watch them meld & mate for hours
as if we could teach our bodies to do the same.
It won’t matter
what we become,
only that we do. Then, when we have fallen
over the edge of this dream,
we’ll look to the fawn-footed girl
who was always standing there, beckoning us closer to shore.
