The Refrigerator Poems

Photographer

Twirling
in the shifting light of Brooklyn,
she opened her skirt like a sail.
You were all grown up, bigger
than your father
and with the same yellow specks
flaring out
from your pupils. Your camera’s impish angle
parted the buttons of her blouse.

A tap
on your shoulder made you whirl around
with your mouth open
like a skirt.

Beautiful women create a disturbance
at weddings
and at sea
when they shift
their complicated weight
from foot to foot.
You prefer them rabbit-still,
like telephones about to ring.
I’ve seen the prints
dripping from a clothesline
in your darkroom.