Twin divers launch from their platforms,
fold, tuck, extend, before the water accepts them
in unison, the splash as quiet as the light rain
that begins to fall on this house that is not ours,
grey waves gasping toward its cantilevered stilts
like the perfect legs of Olympians. As summer bleeds
to not-summer, water boils. Vodka and vermouth
are shaken, poured. I try to touch you, beg my hands,
my mouth to remember afternoons our bodies
did nothing but confess. Dress lifted, palms pressed
to a granite countertop, so desperate to want
as I once wanted. As you still want. Later, I know,
you will offer me ice cream straight from the carton.
The spoon will hover, drip the melting chocolate
onto the couch between us as I recoil. Longing instead
to stroke the carved middles of the men who fall
with such purpose, cut through pool like the lightning
that thrusts into the sand around us. What to do
but watch on tape delay the athletes that streamed
into the stadium, hours prior? Their cameras pan the crowd,
tiny flags and arms ever waving as the pink of their cheeks
deepens in the London damp, exhausted. All things decided now.
Anna Claire Hodge received her PhD in Creative Writing from Florida State University. Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals and has been anthologized in Best New Poets 2013, and It Was Written: Poetry Inspired by Hip-Hop.
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