after a woodblock print by Utamaro
Wet hair bleeds
down her back, as if the blade
had slipped from her mouth
& slashed her. All is water:
ocean, glistening strands
of hair, the cloth
she wrings dry. Her teeth clasp
the blade to shuck shell-fish.
A crouching woman
offers a shell
with ragged edges,
gestures, Try one.
The basket is full.
Sea scent weaves
through air &
waves. Sand swallows feet.
The woman arranges
shells to the brim.
Unlike the other
woman, this one’s body is
concealed in florid
textile: iris, spider lily.
Her hair is a pagoda
of black gloss. She
knows she must act now—finally
touch her friend.
They’ve known each other
for years, but she’s hidden
her affections.
The ocean breathes out & in,
as if to draw the women close.
This panel is one of three,
a triptych. Do the women
know that the section
where they’ve spent centuries
fishing is incomplete?
Does a before & an after
exist in the missing panels?
The desired touch may remain
forever out of the kneeling
woman’s reach. Her
gown’s muddied dye, bleeding.
Dean Kostos’ eighth collection, Pierced by Night-Colored Threads, was released in September of 2017. His previous collection, This Is Not a Skyscraper, won the Benjamin Saltman Poetry Award, selected by Mark Doty. His poems, personal essays, and reviews have appeared in The Bangalore Review (India), Barrow Street, Boulevard, Chelsea, and others.
