by Jessica Tyson
First spring sun
lilts
through—
a summons,
a siren song.
Release
the craving ankles & let calves
streak free
from seersucker.
Get out in the street.
Let the red
mouth of May
open heel backs,
edge upward to legs
(any higher & you’ll
highlight the thigh).
Oh, the thighs—
thighs a sign:
not an entrance,
no admittance,
thighs a road map,
a river,
a rectory, orchard
whose blooms touch the sky
& the ground—
was it Circe’s sent Odysseus
back to the sea,
or a memory (hazy)
of lonely Penelope’s?
Jessica Tyson Huset (she/her) earned her MFA at the University of Washington. Her poetry has appeared in Apeiron Review, Crab Creek Review, Rip-Rap, and The Acorn Review. She is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee and currently lives in Southern California with her husband and cat.