Rita Dove
Adolescence II
Although it is night, I sit in the bathroom, waiting. Sweat prickles behind my knees, the baby-breasts are alert. Venetian blinds slice up the moon; the tiles quiver in pale strips. Then they come,
The Bistro Styx
She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness As she paused just inside the double Glass doors to survey the room, silvery cape Billowing dramatically behind her. What’s this, I thought, lifting a hand until