A Poem by Christina Kapp
Her face would have grown,
stretched round and flat
as a dinner plate
on an empty table.
It would have glimmered
with hopeful appetite
letting the silk of her dress
catch the light’s rippled
rush, romance
slithering her sequins
like a fish’s scales:
a sheath of flat, graceful
muscle, a superpower
of stillness. I drop.
I scatter like oil.
She reflects the surface
of the moon,
teasing out the darkness
with her fingertips
her lips rising like bread
on the water, splitting
open, releasing her heat.
I want her to tell me
what is inside my eyes,
the silence of underwater
pools, water forming words
refracting truth
to look like prayer.