When Asked If I Said “No”
Ice winked its white eye, slick
and aggressive. I wore kitten
heels. I felt pretty. I didn’t mind
the snow landing in my hair, wind
biting at my nape. How almost
it all was: home, bed, sleep.
I didn’t know my own lack until
I felt him slide into me, the hole
our feet made in the snow. But,
what are you really asking?
Each morning the river comes up
for air, breaks through the cold glaze.
Yes, I said it. I said it a thousand times.
Megan Peak holds an M.F.A. from The Ohio State University. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Blackbird, Cimarron Review, Indiana Review, Linebreak, Ninth Letter, North American Review, Pleiades, Ploughshares, and Verse Daily. Find her at www.meganpeak.com.