RACHEL JAMISON WEBSTER
Down the Leg of the Cliff
It was how I knew myself:
stripping down, sitting in chilled grit
then pushing off, skidding
over clay that sloshed up
into my swimsuit, caked my legs,
thickened my hands into paddles
and clotted to a puddle
at the base of the bank,
where then I spread it willfully
into all the hollows the slide
had missed—bell under earlobe,
gullies of collarbone and wrist—
smearing it so thick
the soft hairs couldn’t spring through.
Then I’d lie back on the sand:
a dull-null X, for minutes, days,
epochs, it seemed until
I stood, archaic, an illegible
tablet hobbling over rocks
to plunge under again,
my dry scales opening,
in small explosions,
then shuddering into dun-colored
curtains of fog.
Did I know then
it would never stop?
Cool sliding then this
skin again—raw—
that can be touched.
Rachel Jamison Webster is the author of September (Northwestern University Press 2013) and The Blue Grotto (dancing girl press 2009). She teaches poetry at Northwestern University and edits Universe of Poetry.