First, I had had a thought so unnerving
I went cold all over, in the heat. What if I
love this man, whom I hardly know,
more than I’ve loved any other man, and at
once I was a water fountain,
at grammar school, in the hall, a bubbler,
I was bubblering, I had turned into
a water-bearer who couldn’t bear but
blubbered her water with gulpy blubbers
on a hot summer day. Years ago,
I had been a sudden desert fountain
most days, at old love’s fresh sudden end.
And now, here I am, again,
but not in my - cherryskin
armor, again,
not with my
- cherry
bow and juice-tipped
arrows and dried - cherry
jerkin
and quiver, and - cherry
scenthound—not that
aging - cherry
Artemis again,
it feels
different, now, with this humorous curious
man,
I feel as if we may be
the distilled fruit, the liquor itself, as if I’m
in the interior of new love’s
mouth, I am safe, under his tongue.
And under my own tongue, look
who you see—look!, perfectly safe, it is he.
-Sharon Olds