“String Instrument Rain Song” by Clayre Benzadon

It’s Saturday and I’m outside, covered
in the soil of what you’ve dug up:
Sunday rain,

hidden behind the corners of your mouth.
I kiss you until I’m soaked in nakedness—
Sundays were never meant to be waterproof.

Your torso is a trench coat drenched in the
sweat of my hands and your pale knuckles
curl as I move my palms against your ribs.

Honest notes come out of your mouth,
a salt-licked sea flooded under your eye-
lids, the creases of your dimpled cheek-

bones, the bridge of your nose. Your face a misty
window of recollection close to mine like memory’s
residue when it scratches against the perception of

Saturday, when it is still raining
and when my clothes continue to sop under
the waterproof remnants of your reflection.

Bio: Clayre Benzadon is currently a junior at Brandeis University majoring in Psychology and Creative Writing, with a passion for eating, skiing, mountain sports, and poetry. Currently, her favourite poets include Audre Lorde, Natalie Diaz, June Jordan, Lorca, Neruda, Claudia Rankine, Adrienne Rich, Jennifer Foerster and Ouyang Jianghe (just to name a few).

 

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