Only my mouth taking you in, the greenery splayed deep green. Within my mouth, your arm inserted, a stem of gestures, breaking gracefully. Into each other we root arbitrarily, like bushes, silken, and guttural. Palaver, we open for the thrill of closing, for the thrill of it: opening. The night was so humid when I knelt on the steps, wet and cold, of prewar stone. A charm bracelet of sorts we budded, handmade but brazen, as if organic. I cannot imagine the end of my fascination, emblazoned but feather-white too. The gold closure of this like a gold coin is, of course, ancient. Why can't experience disseminate itself, be silken and brazen yet underwater? A miniature Eiffel Tower, an enameled shamrock, a charm owned by its bracelet.
From HIV, Mon Amour by Tory Dent, copyright © 1999 by Tory Dent. Reprinted with permission of the publisher, Sheep Meadow Press.
Poet Tory Dent's second collection HIV, Mon Amour detailed her struggle with HIV and received the 1999 James Laughlin Award.
Date Published: 1999-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/palea