WORK BY JUSTIN HART


I Was


                                           Old enough to know I wanted it,
but I didn't know what it was.
No one had ever revealed it to me
in the shadows, behind some trees.
No one had ever set me on his lap
and let it rise, like a blister.
It didn't brush against my hands
secretly in the train station crowds.
One night, it grew
large in the back of my mind
and reeked of spoiled peaches.
I woke up panting
with the scent of it all around me.
It was my cricket tongue,
trembling and blue in front of the world.

                           Pontoon #2,Seattle, WA:
                            Floating Bridge Press, 1998.