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Josephine Yu: Postcard From the Sapelo River

March 30, 2013 by PBQ

It’s true, the weather is beautiful, cool enough
     for a sleeve, and almost cloudless,
           the wind rocking the warm planks
of the dock where I play backgammon
     with my host and eat sandwiches
           in crustless triangles. After lunch I read
on the porch, an afghan smoothed
     over my knees and a highball perched
           on a stack of Harlequins beside the loveseat.
The days pass easily, as you said they would.
 
But if you were here, my dearest, my most
     comfortable of loves, I could belch, scratch my armpits,
           and sit with my legs splayed.
I could nap in ripped underwear, drool on the arm
     of the couch. And when I grew bored, I would bat
           the newspaper from your hands and tease,
The Spanish moss in the oaks looks like pubic hair.
 
We’d shower together in water pumped
     from the river, stand drying before a box fan,
           then lie down smelling like coins, counting
our wealth, lie damp with the sheen
     of the river at midday gleaming
           on my breasts, your thighs, our laced arms
beneath the pleated rice-paper curtains
     held up with clothespins, the window open
           to the banks, to their cordgrass and mussels
and the steady current that pulses between them.

Filed Under: Contributors 86, Issue 86, Poetry, Poetry 86 Tagged With: Contributors 86, Josephine Yu, Poetry, Poetry 86

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