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Kissing in Iceland
by Eliza Locke
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Excerpts
Ugly, Wild
He was an animal, raging inside that six-foot frame,
scratching at the flesh around the bone, wanting
to break free of himself. He would cry, after he
hit me, when the blood formed as pools in my mouth.
Sometimes, I would vomit, my body’s
revolt against such injustice, and he would take hold of
me then, lightly as a feather, and he’d whisper I’m
so sorry. Something is wrong with me. I could
never control the shaking, always the violent shaking,
but I would never let that bastard see me cry.
June, 2003
I want to go back to your castle,
the one in that
provincial French village with the
name that eludes me
I want to go back there with you.
Remember when we jumped—
when we fell—into the pool there?
And the groundskeeper, Marcel…
Was that his name?
He came running in his boxer shorts
swinging that wire rake
his eyes squinting in the moonlight…
We held our breath
and just floated
never letting go of each other
like a not-quite grown-up game
of hide-and-seek.
You twirled the wet ends of my hair
in your fingers and told me things
of love in measured whispers
I remember the sound of the water lapping
and the distant barking of a dog.
I loved how the weeds grew there
as unabashed unapologetic intruders.
I miss the cherries and the stories
you used to tell me in that deep blue
voice of yours.
Marrow
She tucked the corners in tightly. She smoothed her skirt.
She glanced just briefly at the face she had come to like
in the mirror. She went down to the kitchen.
She peeled the potatoes. She swore she would leave him
if she found another receipt from that fancy restaurant on
Memorial. That one with the spinning lounge and the piano
bar. She swore she would confront him, ask him all about her,
ask her name, ask what it was that compelled him. She set the oven. She wrote out the place cards. She smiled as the guests
arrived. She poured their drinks and gave them tiny
straws. She wrapped her arm in his. At the end of the night
she ran a razor down her slender wrists and she bled out
all over the freshly bleached bathroom floor. She left a note.
She wrote in black ink, You did this.
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