Margo Davis
Catch me
staring a beat too long
along the nape of her stem-slim neck
at the crimson imprint of his rough hands. I swallow,
slow my pace behind them.
No must be what she had moaned,
no in the face of this hurricane idling, its velocity hovering
along the gulf between them. A gale force grips
what it can
and won’t let go.
In a moment I relive where she stands, his hand, my man’s,
all men’s, gripping my neck
a bit too hard, forceful.
She looks away
to catch her reflection in plate glass, flushing deep as
the stain he has made on her. I feel
light-headed as she studies
her reflection.
What surprised me then, now, how we pretend
that calm will prevail somehow, if only
we weather it.
Our eyes meet in the glass.
No, not this palpable pressure where one hell-bent headwind
could crack all that’s intact. I pull back, swallow,
look down as he swells,
gathering momentum.
Margo‘s more recent poems have appeared in The Fourth River, Ekphrastic Review, Misfit, and Light, and the Houston Chronicle (Fall). Recent anthology publications include Enchantment of the Ordinary (December), Of Burgers and Ballrooms, Untameable City, numerous Texas Poetry Calendars, and Echoes of the Cordillera. A Pushcart nominee awash in Republican mindsets, Margo thrives on closely observing film, photos, and natural settings. She’s known for eavesdropping.
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