of your twitching hardness, the eagerness of your tongue,
and I felt my father hovering behind the closet door
beside my robe, the blue one with torn collar—
his memory watches from between the scarves
you buy me, which I never wear; you know I hate
things twined around my neck.
he is a ghost wrapped in velum,
that stinks of ice and dead smelt in a milk bucket,
his clutching hands, as nervous as doves.
A shade that fades during dawn’s strange movements;
the cornflower light that seeps into the walls
like wisps of warm breath against a frigid cheek.
what was there?
what was there to see?
Jennifer K. Kowalski is an author whose poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction explore the intersection of gender, sexuality, and sexual expression. Her sex-positive, blended-genre erotica is published as Anne Stagg on Bellesa.co. Jennifer also contributed feature articles and a regular column to dialogue Magazine and poetry to Tar River Poetry’s 25th Anniversary Edition under her family name Jennifer Ralph. She holds a Master’s in Social Work and is a vocal advocate for the creation of physical and virtual spaces that affirm gender-expression and sexuality without shame or apology. Visit http://www.jkkowalskiwrites.wordpress.com and http://www.annestaggwrites.wordpress.com. Follow her on Twitter @jkkowalski and @annestaggwrites.