It was the first Friday of spring. It was dark.
When I walked to his front door, the porch stretched out
like a pier in the dark. I came in with my shoes still on. The walls
were green as water. I could hear the echo of my heels
across their waves. In the kitchen, on top of the iron stove were slabs of salmon
and a little lemon. Each eye – the piercing. In this room
their pupils startled me like a white
March moon. I opened a window as he opened the door. My heart arched
like an eel. He said it was raining. He closed the window and took off
my shoes. We waded into his room. His hands were cold as fins
against my skin. The ceiling pitched. Even now
my hand can’t taste what my tongue has told me.
Hannah Bonner’s poems have appeared in Oyster Boy Review, The Cellar Door, The Asheville Poetry Review, The Freeman, The North Carolina Literary Review, The Southern Poetry Anthology, Volume VII: North Carolina, and So to Speak: A Feminist Journal.
Her essays and book reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in The Asheville Poetry Review, VIDA: Women in the Literary Arts, Immersion Journals, The Fbomb, Luna Luna Magazine, Misadventures Magazine, Lumen Magazine, and ROAR Magazine: Reflections on a Revolution.