Sandal
Look in my eyes with thy sweet eyes intently,
give me your hand and let me press it gently.
-Mrs. Dalloway
I've imagined you ten or twenty times,
as the wings of the sunset sink and close
around your blushing face and neck,
held in my red, red hands.
Your knees, however, have long since
gone cold for me. They tremble for others.
My ambition, also, shook and died.
I collect crushed shells
along the beach.
The presence of men chases me from place to place.
I store the waves that pour over my feet.
I lie alone on the sand and inhale
the cold humiliation. Voices downwind
mix with and sink into the ocean waves.