My flesh chills
all through January,
from fingers to toes,
a constant barrage of shivering.
So I count on you,
your body on my almond chest
though you know nothing
of picking limoncillo,
cracking the skin with teeth,
sucking the yellowy-pink flesh
from the stone.
You arrive at my door
like the garage mechanic you are,
smelling of grease,
your tattooed arms
sore and bruised
and only the coffee
on our breath
in common.
But it’s January.
I cannot repeat that often enough.
juanita rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country for five
years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Opiate
Journal, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.