
Variant 2
Guidelines: Here and There
“Sometimes a journey makes itself necessary.”
Lying in a hammock
that is just old loops of string
that, too-small, sections me like a ham
into diamonds of pink flesh
but the dark, complicit, hides it
and I can swingHalf-asleep
the glint of the bonfire across the river is hazy
our own fire dying down
choked on green bamboo
and my hand hangs over the edge
a lifeless thing that by being there
strokes the dog that lies beneath
my fingers moving over the belly
she offers me
the tender interludes of fur and fleshOn the edges of the firelight
triangle-faced cats dip their noses
sampling the scent of us
of the dinner we finished hours ago
still hoping for the scraps
of conversation that might have fallen
from our mouths
bits and pieces of language strewn
among the few grains of rice
that found their way to the floor
while the guide reaches out a bare foot
and pushes the bamboo log further
into the fireEarlier, he’d reached out to stroke my back
to warmly measure my cheeks
as I lay lazily stretching out the sun
that had settled into my skin
and when we steepled our hands
in a skirmish of here and there
he kept his winnings
a handful of long fingers
clasped tightly
until I found some excuse
and tucked them between my thighs
for safekeepingNow, he pretends to watch the water
beyond me rather than the landscape I present
as the hammock pushes me in and out of the night
as I find and leave him
over and over again
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