WHIRLWIND

We met in Istanbul
where your face was a veil
and you beckoned
a reckless gesture.

Cover your eyes, you hissed
when I dared to look
through your robe
at your breast buds.

You were twelve when we first kissed
wadded your gum under the desk
whistled at me, spit into the wind
earnestly began chewing my hair.

We ran away to Naples during the long war
while flames licked at our feet
and charred our skin. Hurry!
you barked over your shoulder.
I was already losing sight.

I wailed all night in Jerusalem
when you turned me hard
against the stone wall
pressing against my back
as your reached up inside me
grabbed my womb with your fist.

In winter, we rented a small cottage
in Copenhagen, where winds blew
snow over our bed.
We embraced and couldn't let go.
You were cold and needed comfort.

We undressed each other—maidens
in the fifth century—and were discovered
naked, entwined asleep,
your ringlets black and soft
on the silken pillow.

But then I missed the cab to the airport,
slept right through the alarm
one morning in Cairo
and you were gone.

I was beheaded
with your name on my lips.
The baggage was clearly marked
but reached Paris by error.

I'm in New York
waiting for your letter.


OUR SEASONS 
(for my brother, Ray)

Summer

Lightning bugs were fabulous.
You could pull their heads off
save the ovoid fluorescent bodies
in a glass jar
or you could let them live!
Catching each one in the
scoop of your palm
poking holes in the jar lid
with an ice pick
thinking how you could
use this same pick
to stab tiny holes
in your brother.

Autumn

When they fell
splattering color across yards
rain-squished into earthy soil
it was our job to sweep them
into a great mound at the curb.
We were in our experimental
years, beyond simple savagery.
You dared me to eat acorns, and I did.
I told mom a lie, and you didn't tell.
Still, we got in each other's way
when we would take off from the dome of the hill,
racing at top speed
run, run, run, and jump
into the soft pile, inhaling
the safety of its mulch fragrance
landing hard on top of each other.

Winter

We prayed for snow.
We prayed for reprieve
from chores, homework,
and punishments.
If it started at night,
we'd watch at the window for hours
as it floated down
framed visible by street lamps.

We prayed for snow-days.
Funny, that's the only time I remember
that we prayed together.
You had your bar mitzvah,
but somehow I was the one
who needed God.

Spring

Spring was sucking honeysuckle
putting buttercups under your
best friend's chin to see
if she's in love
leaving your jacket
at the playground
double-dutch, or jacks, or huge
neighborhood games
of dodge ball.

I didn't play with you
the spring my breasts sprouted.
I wore bulky sweaters
shyly received a few kisses
stopped telling you
my secrets.

RISA DENENBERG is a medical writer living in New York City. She also writes poetry and fiction.

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