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Secret. Lovers.

Curve of rib.
A cage
she says.
Collar bones,
breasts, sharp,
sudden, amplified
as in a painting.
Waists’ cool,
piercings tug
meeting moment.
A fingernail
a roadwork of white
razor blade
highways on
taut teenage
bicep and forearm.
Not one penetrates.
Much less
than love
she breathes
between lips
and air.

The Same Rain

Hurried, hunched over in the hard
January rain,
rain drops ringing in my coffee cup,
the snow melting,
I couldn’t help thinking of you.
Was it your leaking roof,
those red Hills Brothers coffee cans
on counters and floors catching
winter rain in your house
and the fog and melting snow
that made you feel invisible
as you looked out your kitchen window
into the cotton white,
then the crushing grind of an airplane
overhead that brought you back?

Rob Hunter's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Poet Lore, Blueline, Willard and Maple, The Cresset, South Boston Literary Gazette, the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, and others. In 2013 he was a featured writer at Hartwick College’s New American Writers Festival. He was also an editor of Birchsong, an Anthology of Vermont Poetry. Since 1991 he has been teaching high school English, the last twenty years at Burr and Burton Academy in Manchester, Vermont.
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