by Jen Stein

Consider that the board is well
mapped. In a place where two
rivers meet, there is a park with
oaks arching overhead, dappled
sunlight on a riverbank, a bench,
it is June, it is dusk. A broken swing
with a wind-driven creak, rhythmic
and slow as a sleeping heart.
I am looking out at a heron near
the shore. You are looking at me.
We assess one another in this way.
I watch for clues – the way herons
dip tug before flight. Growth patterns
of the reeds, branches, how they all
mirror the body. The way you breathe,
and how it makes me want to inhale
with you, exhale with you, how I stretch
moments between my fingers, warm
and sticky and tasting of burnt sugar.
You watch me – you are always more
direct. How well do we really know
the next move we’ll make? You want
to kiss me. I can tell. We don’t fully
understand our own strengths, let alone
each other’s. Who is the instigator
and who negotiator? If I kiss you first,
would this become a cooperative game?