Other Lovers

Other Lovers Four A.M. and die highway is yours. The last car you passed turned off for Hyannis. At Orleans, the rotary spins you out by Rock Harbor and die bayside where the water's warmer. The outer Cape opens like a wound. Shrunken pine are jagged stitches closing local roads. Through the fog you sense sand and salt. The roar of the motor is the crush of waves at Nauset Light. Last time here was with anodier lover. You scooped clams by the handful, laughed with gulls and lay naked in die dunes. She gadiered wild roses and dune grass and told you the moon laughed too. The moon is frowning now and you know drowning children tangled in die kelp. Gulls are puking on die dunes where you made love. Now die only diings that grow are sand and waves. You stand on die beach while storms widi women's names, weird sisters of anodier sort wade off shore. Wet sand forms pockets around your legs and when you're trapped die storms make violent love. ANDREW GROSSBARDT Andrew Grossbart, currently in the Ph.D. creative writing program at the University of Utah, is on leave from Northeast Missouri State University where he was director of the writing program. ...