By Kimberly McClintock
Nor was I aware of you at all
as I examined the tomatoes—over-watered,
otherwise ignored, an experiment
in the maxim of abuse—until just now
when your face passed over his.
Not an eclipse, not really over his face
but over my heart. And it wasn’t your face, exactly,
but my other, younger heart
passing over this one.
Like an overlay in a children’s book on Pompeii:
what the House of Vettii looks like now
printed on the cardboard page
beneath a transparent film of then:
fresco of Oleander, mosaic fountain, indigo vase
glazed with a thousand cracks.
A native of New Jersey, Kimberly McClintock currently lives in Colorado with the writer David Wroblewski.