Meadowbrook Sapphics
Skipping class, we crossed over red-brick rubble,
razor grass, and chicory fields behind our school
to reach the stream where the tree-root banks sank
down to the water.
It was ninth grade, you were
the new girl. I took
you to see water spiraling over ledges,
falling, forming currents of sound, a steady
curtain to hide us
from the others. We watched how the sunlight splintered,
fractured quiet pools with its glancing light that
slashed my gaze so all that I saw was your face
shimmering slightly.
Then you touched me, all at
once, hands against my
hair, the shocking taste of your mouth on mine like
sharpened light. And still how that small
percussion
echoes within me.
