Two Girls

Because I am running
out of ways to speak to you,
I let your hands move inside me
like desperate wings.
I steal your light
and watch it roll out, your thunder
tongue, my Mississippi.
You are a bridge laced over me.

We are parked outside homes, dark
sills where wives and husbands sleep.
Thin trees wind up through air
like long black sleeves. Our loose
strands of hair will stick to this seat

for weeks. We cross the scar of train tracks,
beneath a canopy of freeways,
along this road of red brick factories
until all I see is what it has been: stars,
breasts and hip bones, small benedictions.

~Erika Mueller