Evening Tide
Buy Issue for $25 at JHUP- Evening Tide
Sometimes I come to bed after you are asleep arranging myself stealthily on my panoply of little pillows until I’m a sea floating on submerged islands. Your breath stays deep and low. I can feel my body’s tight tuning to the day’s notes slipping into a lower register. The city’s night noises seem a long way off, the waning moon lingers behind her curtain of cloud, and the room’s darkness wraps me in its liquid cloak. Over on the dresser the gadgets from your pockets docked on their chargers emit a trio of blinking lights, contrapuntal, reassuring as marker lights across a bay. My breath deepens toward yours even before you throw your arm out to trawl me into your dream. [End Page 107]
Liza McAlister Williams lives, writes, and teaches in Brooklyn, New York, “where she explores with Pratt Institute art students the ways that poetry and drama resemble, and resonate with, the plastic arts.” Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Blue Unicorn, Light Quarterly, Pasque Petals and elsewhere.
