JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

When she saw him it was like lightning

like glissando, Sarasate, the universe rolling

back on itself to reveal — a snake!

 

She had heard it told that he was kind

others said he was evil, wicked

obsessive, reckless — there were many versions of him.

 

His expression. Was it sneering or benevolent?

Was he tall, muscular, of dark or sallow complexion?

Was he dressed in finery, a suit of armor

or was he naked, oiled as a door spring?

She could not remember.

 

As the lightning forked again sending

her into wild shivers of loathing or delight

she closed her eyes, allowed herself to sink

into a sea of clarity or confusion—

she didn’t care which.

​

 

All she could think of were his fingers.