a poem by christina cook

For Threads of Saffron


That the rain soaked my espadrilles
and plastered my thin Indian blouse
to your skin. I remember
watching smoke from your Camels twist

until it became fog
and the horses knelt down in prayer.
Silence scissored our words to spareness,
and inside the things
     
we did not tell each other,
rosewood beads were traded for threads
of saffron, sips of water offered
from cool cupped hands.

Why the heat ladled out of our mouths
made the V that egrets leave along the surface
of water when wading their way
through reeds: in the wake
     
of a few forsaken words,
the whole marsh had hushed        
and even the mirage-thin birds were aware
that only these words would remain.

Christina Cook is the author of Lake Effect (Finishing Line Press, 2012). Her most recent work has appeared in New Ohio Review, Crab Orchard Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and Cimarron Review. She is a contributing editor for Cerise Press and an assistant editor of Inertia Magazine, and works as the senior writer for the president of Dartmouth College.