Ice And Fire

a deep whisper, and I know it is him, my savior, the one I have

to undulate with or die. The phone rings: I have come to dread

it: he never says who he is: the voice is melodious, undulating

or the wind rushing through the trees at dusk carrying the

edge of night, chill, fear. I am breathy, uncertain, timid, tenuous:

in his world it means fuck me.

*

Have you ever seen a snake on parched ground, undulating?

His voice was like a snake. I am the parched ground.

*

“ I can’t, ” I say.

“ What will you do then? Where are you going to go? ” asks

my agent, smart, humane, serious, a serious woman with a

serious question. There is nothing to do, nowhere to go.

“ I don’t know what to say, ” I say.

“ Just say..

I write it down. I cross out the adjectives. I pause. I am

breathy. I can barely choke it out. It sounds desperate and

sexy. I never have to finish a sentence. “ I know, ” he says,

melodious, undulating.

*

The lump in my throat is tears, a fist. It is repulsion, coiled up,

ready to spring. Then the wild wires will cut through the silky

skin lining the throat and blood will flood the lungs and spill

out over the shoulders, and the child will be like a stone statue,

ancient marble, desecrated with red paint: head and shoulders

cold and polished, throat torn open: Brian DePalma and

werewolves: the stone statue on a stand, shoulders and head,

eyes empty, no pupils, stone hair matted down in cold ivory:

blood tearing out of the torn throat: called Loved. I am the

child, silent now: a girl sleeping on a bed, it is dark, she is

wearing a turquoise dress with old-fashioned buttons all up

the front from below the waist to the high neck, and her daddy

132

comes in to say goodnight, and slowly, slowly, he undoes each

button— she has not been able to sleep, he says go to your room

and just lie down and rest and I will come in, no don’t worry

about changing your clothes, so she lies down just as she is, in

her old-fashioned dress with all the buttons— and slowly,

slowly, he undoes each button: it is a dream but she is awake,

a fog, in the dark, she waits, he undoes each button, he is

nervous, throaty, he rubs her, he is throaty, he runs out: the

lump in my throat is tears. I am the child, silent now. It takes

me back that far: that close to annihilation.

*

The phone rings late Friday evening. The whisper goes on and

on. He wants me to come to dinner at his apartment the next