La Sieste 

A poem by Eliette Chanezon

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Through the shower window came
a patch of yellow light, trembling
flickering, dividing, warmed
by the falling water.

I thought of being held in such a patch of light
of elbows knuckles and knees
intertwined like the roots of a tree.

It was not the salty, sweaty, dream of frustrated afternoons
this one was softer
light landing on skin
dancing its way to hair

to closed eyes
to a nose pressed against an arm
and a wrist that will wake up numb.

The Me that I found then
behind the shower curtain
was bare and friable
undone by water the way April undressed the orchids
leaving behind fields and fields

of scattered petals.