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Show The Ice House You were always arriving at the ice house, dressed in corduroy, your slender waist cool as wine. I walked out of my braids, out of my hips, out of my childhood dancing in mirrors, and came to you dressed in cotton and then undressed. That summer children shimmied up trees thickened blue with plums, cicadas clicked high in the tree crowns. Tin roofs were a river glinting for miles through the uncut oleanders. And at night, lighting the lantern, our shadows rushed out of our bodies and rose dark, immense. By the end of the summer caterpillar nests webbed vthe trees sucking them dry, you were tired of your face blistering in the sun. The world was berserk with children. They littered the roadside, selling butterflies they had closed in their hands and flattened behind glass. |
