portion of the artwork for Claudia F. Savage's poem

Folklore II.
Claudia F. Savage

Unaware I was thunderstorm
the first touch leaves you rhapsodic.
 
Soon we’re comparing longitudes:
hip to calf, stomach to heart,
finger pushing for rib bone,
capricious clouds
rejoining the mouth’s river.
 
To love long-distance is to
worry the birds
for twelve-hundred miles,
over the Rockies, the Cascades,
bits of blood,
skin, polluting the snow,
choking the sea.
 
We thought we could stop. Find someone
nice in our own cities.
 
But then you are off the plane, in my arms,
the moment even thicker
than before. Your mouth
scent of rain-filled wood. Smoked
tea in your hair. Your eyes.
Your eyes.

It seems simple.

The fire rises in you.
I am effervescent.



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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 47 | Spring 2016