Peter Swanson
lives in Somerville, Massachusetts, where he writes poetry and detective stories.
He has recently appeared or will appear in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Measure, Orchard Press Mysteries, Unsplendid, and The Vocabula Review.
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Naked by Refrigerator Light
I stumbled from my bed still in a doze
To find you like a statue by the fridge.
Gold light as though from heaven’s ledge
Lit up each soft and curving part of you—sans clothes—
So that the whole of you became a star
Against the yawning kitchen’s starless black.
The whiteness of your thighs! Your shoulder’s slack
And sloping line. Pale throat. Appendicitis scar.
And roundness that I never knew you had,
Your body shadow-slivered by fake moons,
An image bright as cloudless afternoons.
Oh how I wish I’d never seen you like that, dad.
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