by Best Poem
I slept stupid last night,
crumpled the blanket and made a divide
between me – the log torso –
and you. Some point after midnight
but before four, when January
rattled the window pane
and February rustled the wood
I turned and faced you,
swan back, one arm extended above
your head, one across your brow:
a twisted Venus.
The long curves of your slow back spoke
their dark mahogany and I listened,
I was still. I kissed the shadows
nestled in them.
Men dream of such a winter solstice.
Jeremy Meserole is an English teacher, dorm parent and coach at the Stony Brook School in Stony Brook, Long Island. He lives there with his wife, Kimmy, and the thirty-six boys who share the living quarters of their lovely and spacious dormitory, Hegeman Hall.