We had a drink and got in bed. That’s when the boat in my mouth set sail, my fingers drifting in the shallows of your buzz cut. And in the sound of your eye a skiff coasted—boarding it I found all the bric-a-brac of your attic gloom, the knives from that other island trip, the poison suckleroot lifted from God-knows-where. O, all your ill-begotten loot—and yes, somewhere, the words you never actually spoke, the woven rope tethering me to this rotting joint. Touch me, and the boat and the city burn like whiskey going down the throat. Or so it goes, our love-wheedling myth, excessively baroque.
"Troy" from Halflife by Meghan O’Rourke. Copyright © 2007 by Meghan O'Rourke. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Born in New York in 1976, Meghan O'Rourke's first book of poetry, Halflife, was a finalist for Britain's Forward First Book Prize
Date Published: 2007-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/troy