Ode to a Lover
by Laura Sobbott Ross


We were travelers then, weren't we, love?
Two journeys locked into a path of flight-

you went north and I went south
but not before we laid the hollows

of our bodies beneath each other's skin
like snow angels in a bank

of something beautifully impermanent-
limbs, fan-shaped and flapping,

starry grains nudged into shadows
a shade paler than your eyes.

Remember how we almost loved,
how we almost came close enough

to hold each other still in a room
of motel furniture and beer,

while the highway twitched
like a moth at the window.

There is not much
that can be held like a memory-

not a breath, not a heartbeat,
not a name once a longing

at the marrow of the bone.
I remember how you unbuttoned me

that night, the loosed rustle of emerald green
sliding down my shoulders the way a tree

lets go of a leaf too soon, and
the sky is pieced together again,

while the humid air grows restless
for the taste of something red.


Please send us your comments, including the name of the work you are commenting on.

Don't want to miss out? Contact us and we'll send you an e-mail message announcing each new issue. (Be sure to see our Privacy Policy.)

Copyright © 1999-2008 by Amarillo Bay. All rights reserved.
Individual works are copyrighted by their authors.