The Public Place, After Olga Broumas

I have been watching her for a long time. I have been watching this woman, this small frame on the grass in a public place. I have been watching the long dark hair fall like a web on her shoulders, the neck, the fine slender arms, the way she senses I'm here watching her. I am a spy. I am exploring, mouth open, the hard ribs of her body, the hips hidden in denim, the creases, the creases, the muscles that stretch under dark blue jean patches so tight. I am a pirate, my tongue the ship that rises with the storm of each movement I am inside her I'm watching inside her from behind the brown iris I'm spying. I do not know her I am her lover I do not touch her she rises she stands in the grass in the public place she is barefoot soft feet unaccustomed to being so naked those feet white feet moving away from the grass the public place the imprint of her still fresh on the grass the public place taking the intersection against the light with a vengeance a dare in her white step she is barefoot I am her lover I am the woman she goes to, going home.

Published: The World in Us, St. Martin’s Press, 2000.