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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3338 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Being a Carver’s Widow Laurel K. Dodge Being Carver’s Widow (for Ash) Tell him, now that he’s dead; tell him you know what love is. Tell him it’s the same length and shade as the braid that slaps your back as the horse takes you; a twisted whip that can inflict sting depending on how it’s wielded. Tell him it’s a rope unraveling, each of you at an end tugging in a war neither will win, both on your knees, grinding your teeth in the mud pit. Tell him, now that he’s dead that he knew too. Tell him that love’s the cathedral the two of you drew together on yesterday’s news, on the faces of brides and grooms. Tell him you felt it grow bigger beneath your blue crayon. Tell him you were afraid to open your eyes and see how huge the room was; already the ceiling was sky and the shag carpet, field Tell him, now that he’s dead, that love is this animal between your legs that you’d gladly ride bareback grasping its mane wherever the beast might take you. Tell him love is your heels digging into ribs. Tell him, now that he’s dead, that love is your body clinging to the shape of that gallop. |
