He strokes her hip, smoothes her
\nas if she were wet clay
\nher mother sits nearby
\ntries not to watch
\nher daughter shape herself to him<\/p>\n
The party floats around them
\nmusic like a hungry cat
\nslides against their lolling dance
\nthe mother recalls her own hands on that rounded body
\nher fingers curl toward deserted palms
\nher lap lies hollow
\nan abandoned nest
\nin a felled tree<\/p>\n
His lips sculpt slow words, barely smile
\nhe bends his neck to arch over her
\nsupple beneath the cowl of his heat
\nthe mother recalls, too, lodging once herself
\nin the swollen niche
\nher daughter now inhabits
\nseagirt colony of two<\/p>\n
She turns chastely away
\nsearches the dark sky through window-glass
\ntheir reflection overlays the night
\nwavers among the constellations
\nthe mother rises, pockets her hands
\nunmoored lightship, she drifts out of the room
\nher wake slaps unnoticed
\nat her daughter’s back<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cIslanders\u201d was published in the anthology Exquisite Reaction<\/em>, Andrew Mountain Press, Hartford, CT, 2000.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"