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previously published www.wordsinhere.com,
2005
Running Woman
This is something you do every Sunday morning,
out of a modest kindness to your own body,
and when you come in, the hallway floods
with iron and salt.
I am in the shower and the bland smell of clean
is suddenly drowned out
so I’m wild to peel you like a fruit out of your wet gear,
to see your feet, a simple elegance, knurled from use
and the damp luxury of your fur.
A heaped slobber of kit slumps on the tiled floor.
You rest your cold, wet body, all its live hidden heat held
against my lax warmth.
I remember a lake in France, the bottom so far down
that as you dropped your feet
chills rose upward but sun stroked a finger of volcanic rock
releasing a smell of iron and salt.
Long before I knew you, I licked its deep mineral scent,
my blood’s compass set like a field beast’s
on iron, salt and a hint of honey.
Kate Foley
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last
update:
e-mail
Kate
Kate
at Desperado Literature
ppf
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anthology -
"A Twist of Malice"
shop elsewhere...
collections -
"The
Silver Rembrandt",
Shoestring Press;
"Laughter
from the Hive",
Shoestring Press;
"Soft
Engineering",
Onlywomen Press;
"A Year Without Apricots",
Blackwater
Press;
chapbook
-
"Night and Other Animals",
Green Lantern
Press
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