Longlisted for the OSP Poetry Competition
After Rembrandt
That night, Jupiter visits Antiope in the guise of satyr.
Her lips parted, her arms framing her head, the paper and ink quietly breathe. She shifts in her sleep and farts.
Jupiter wrinkles the sheet from her body like a wave from the sand uncovering a farmyard aroma
and Antiope open as a map folded at the hips.
Jupiter leans forward until his shadow blinds him.
I catch my reflection in the screen; there's a wall of glass between us.