based on The Guest, by Anna Akhmatova
I felt the way he looked at me across the room.
Hungry. A bear in spring. Glass of red wine
in his paws. His gaze hooked into me
as I parted the currents of the crowd.
I found a window, stood in its chill,
felt his heat arrive behind me. Scent
of tundra. Sweet grass. I did not turn
to him to speak. What do you want,
I said. To meet you in hell, he said,
his voice layered in honey and shade.
I met his eyes in the window, saw him
on his hind legs, rippled, as though through a lake.
You mean to have us both destroyed,
I said. Watched through our reflections
the falling snow. Tell me, he said,
how men kiss you. Tell me how you kiss.
My lips wanted to show him, Like this,
but my mouth formed in a silent O,
round as a wedding ring. In the mirror
of the night, I watched his eyes linger there.
And the gold on my finger slipped off
as my hands transformed to fins. I knew
some part of me would die. I knew
I would choose to swim.