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Tanya Grae: The Unfaithful Housewife

June 7, 2020 by PBQ Leave a Comment

             after Federico García Lorca / after Conor O’Callaghan

 

 

no one led me to the river

         & I was not a virgin

because I had a husband & you

         those long weekends

in Mobile I should have stayed

         the street lights weren’t on yet

as I parked at the restaurant

         areolas electric body

heat diffusing perfume

         & the cotton of my jeans—

you in your fine linen suit

         table votive with its aureole

of gold the haze your eyes,

         & I forgot my life so fast

eight hours from the river—

         past the longleaf pines

scrub palms & billboards

         after two glasses of pinot

I let down my hair

         you took off your tie

& reached for my hand

         my need to kiss you

your cocksure play

         so no coffee no dessert

nothing in all of Florida

         has half the sweetness

that night you might

         have harnessed the winds

off the Gulf of Mexico

         winged unbridled

I play back the murmurs

         my body still bitten you

pulled me from the river

         & tangled bougainvillea

I was married yes but                     

         fallen & already yours

Filed Under: Issue 100, Poetry, Poetry 100 Tagged With: Tanya Grae

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