It was more than narcissistic pleasure,
you eating grass by the side of the river, you threatening
to turn me into a tree. It was more than
my voice echoing the turn yours took as the river.
It was more than the prayer of spring in my eyes
that made you shiver, bud in winter.
No, it was more than that. Something you
could call a parallactic vision. Not so much
I’m speaking what you’re hearing, or I think you read
me so well it almost makes you write,
but more like when I say
I think I saw something out of the
corner of your eye.
© 2007 Nicole Walker
’s work has appeared in Ploughshares, Shenandoah, Bellingham Review, Fence, Seneca Review, Iowa Review, Fourth Genre, Ninth Letter, and crazyhorse, among other journals. A recent NEA grant recipient, she teaches creative writing at Grand Valley State University in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
