“Open”
In her hands
I become
the fire
The bedroom window
open
to the winter air
The night
and the cold
enter
She warms herself
against
what she has made
Her touch
shaping me
into flames
“Pavane”
She is showering now,
and though I am still in our bed I can see her as clearly as if
I were washing her back
for her, soaping her skin gently up the curve of her shoulders
as she lets the warm spray
strike her face directly, holding very still, her eyes closed, arms across
her breasts. The ceiling fan
cools my wet body. I hold very still, my eyes closed, my hands over
my face. You have no choice,
I know this, but to follow the beloved. I go to where she goes because
my heart says I must, and
I go gladly. Love leaves you no choice. But the beloved is not so
constrained. If the day
arrives when she gives herself to another, then we will have to
consider more subtle
variances in the realms of choice. If that day arrives. But not before.
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About the Author
Ralph Culver is an American poet whose latest collection is A Passable Man (MadHat Press, 2021). He has work recently published or forthcoming in Plume, Queen’s Quarterly, Culterate, elsewhere, and The Seventh Quarry, among other journals. His new book, This to This, is set to come out in 2025.
