Rebecca With Tequila Shot

Matthew Landrum

 

At speech, the feeling fled I spit out

the rind of sour words: breast,

rebel, beckon, bedecked. Crush

of ice, the wince and edge of tequila

 

your mouth enraptures the moment

of clasped glasses and salted wrists.

I saw Moses on the high mount

glaring, a shattered tablet in his hand

 

and you with tangled hair.

Perhaps you are messiah of Absalom,

Magdelena, Delilah. Rebecca,

hair calling in the wilderness,

 

cry that startled Boaz awake

on the threshing floor, the thrust

of the smirking now, the call of limbs,

incantations of flesh and lullabies.

 

Singsong Rebecca, saltpeter and lime,

the alcohol biting, the serpent turning.

You and I on the hardwood floor,

entranced, entwined but not yet burning.

     

 
Matthew Landrum is an MFA student at Bennington College and lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  His work has been included in Pearl, The Buenos Aires Review, The Willard and Maple Review.

 

    

 

Return