This poem was originally published in the Summer 1999 issue of MQR. It is available via our archives.
The Dark Lady
Nighttime rubs against windows Like the same black cat Who slinked out of language Punched black-&-blue by fists Of pallor. Did would-be lovers Cross themselves when you entered A room? Like a brunette Leda Clothed in nothing but contradictions, You were exposed by desire's sharp Beak. As if words could ferry you Into an embrace, each syllable A worm in an apple. Dark Lady, How did the color of eyes & hair Mark your tongue? You, naked As immortality, ambiguous as sea Salt licking a man's spleen.
Photo Credit: Nancy Crampton
