Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Erinn Batykefer
Anniversary
This time last year—or was it years ago—
summer floated, belly-up, in the green bowl
of the lake with us, our eyes closed under a white sky,
white sun staring down through clouds
like a lidded eye, like the film between us now.
I want to believe this separation
is like drifting past each other in water, almost touching.
I want to believe summer is your heat
haloed in the lake, that I could reach out or open my eyes
to find your face. Already, my memory drifts
over it, like swans over the face of the lake; my eyes
are closed to wherever you are,
and I would keep them closed if I could still reach out,
if I could feel you throwing heat
beyond my skin like a fire I can never, no, never touch.
20 ◆ Crab Orchard Review