Meditative Week of Poetry: Natalie Dunn
It’s surprising you’ve never been with a woman, I said to her just as the lake revealed itself
in the window. It was frozen over, a field of snow.
The night we kissed against the wall it was winter again. I see more clearly
in these months, she told me, her house full of slush and ruined pine.
There are many versions of me: one that likes to be tied up with intricate knots,
another that can’t stand to be touched. I try not to create likeness of her, attach her to beautiful things.
The time we walked around a false lake I imagined slipping in,
being forgotten or remembered, not knowing the difference.
The men we love walked in front of us, she pointed to a heron that stood
at the edge of the water. I pretended to see it. I keep trying to see it.
