New Poem


The dark laurel of rain over our heads
means that everyone’s under the weather today.
June in New England, the sky bruised
with rain so hard and unexpected
the weatherman sends his apologies.

I slink into the house, sopping wet.
My husband and I kiss as if
I’ve just come home from shore leave.
I've come home wanting to touch
and be touched, so much wetness

outside. Sometimes I am drawn into child’s play
and dinner and the clothes to protect me
tomorrow, but tonight I uncork the wine,
allow myself to want what the body wants
as the humidity beads and slowly
rolls down the windowpane.

I touch the small of his back
and let my hand glide lower
while he slices red peppers for salad.
Tonight, let’s be careless and sloppy
like drivers testing the speed limit
not watching the ponding in the road.

Copyright 2006 January G. O'Neil


Jennifer S. said…
oh girl - write more!
claireylove said…
You have such a talented way of slipping from the general to particular and the personal that takes my breath away. Love your poetry, January.
writingblind said…
This is beautiful. I can't get over how talented you are. More poetry, please.

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