Poem 11 ± November 11, 2018

Robert Carr
Life Study Models

Barely men, thirty years ago, Robert dimples
at my self-conscious flex, muscled body
a frieze. We undress on a dais, drop white cotton
robes. The teacher, in her purple vest,
shows us a photograph—Wrestlers of Uffizi.
On the floor, knees spread, I’m on bottom.
He wraps my thigh, twists an arm. Students sketch
beside our stage. The room, a blush,
soft parts growing against my back, hardwood
trunk and huff of armpit. Without words,
locked eyes make evening plans. Taut tendon,
private hair of moss. Pencils sketch, cameras
click as we breath into the stance, finer than line.

Sheers billow over an unscreened window,
invitation to all things winged. Evening spins
through spring oak leaves. On my back I arch
and shudder, stretch open. Hands hold knobby knees.
I long for lost tickle, Robert’s kinked black beard,
thick cords of dread caught in every crease.
Wrapped in a fist I grow still—age-spotted,
a lichened twist growing out of night.

 

 

Massachusetts-based poet Robert Carr is the author of Amaranth (Indolent Books, 2016) and The Unbuttoned Eye, a full-length collection forthcoming from 3: A Taos Press. Among other publications his poetry appears in the Bellevue Literary Review, Crab Orchard Review, The Massachusetts Review and Rattle. Robert is Developmental Editor with Indolent Books and an editor for the anthology Bodies and Scars, forthcoming from the Ghana Writes Literary Group. Additional information can be found at robertcarr.org.

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