O’Keeffe, to Stieglitz [Canyon, TX, to New York, NY; 1917]
Naked swimmer, I am your
blue lake—a hot moon
lifting from my throat. Tonight,
I am full of wheels and empty
canyons. Desert
so open we walk without
roads. I throw bottles
at the made-to-order stars
for my sister’s rifle
to spark, break,
burst glass
to belated sunset.
The sheet on my bed
is a great twist.
It is strange to write you
just because I want to,
but I hate to be undone
by a little thing like distance.
From Pelvis with Distance (White Pine Press, 2015) by Jessica Jacobs. Used with permission of the author.