Frostwriting

Of the Past, I Have Only Hints

by Russell Evatt

When you wanted to draw the curtains
but were too consumed

by your nakedness to rise
and I, politely refusing for the same reason,

stared at your ear as your head
shaded my eyes from the morning light,

I thought of the dent in your earlobe,

grown tight and small but still visible,
where an earring once pressed through flesh

now no more than a nod to that time
and when I asked

you said, “I don’t wear earrings anymore,”
then slightly adjusted your head,

allowing the morning light to leave
my eyes squinting.