two poems

by Rita Tiwari

Gin-Soaked, Effervescent

We were in love once—growling like beasts,

ruffs raised, showing our teeth. At night now

I’m lost at sea. You’re on the boat. You chase me

like a sharpened shadow. We hold hands.

You said, I want a woman who’s old enough

to know what she wants or young enough

to be told. You said, Have you ever taken

anti-psychotics? You said, Some jealousy is healthy.

Every moment glinted like the moon;

years of midnight—gin-soaked, effervescent.

Strands of crystal pinned us to the sky.

Pebbles shivered. No rumors of dawn.

When you left, you took her

down

to that sepia-toned

dystopian underworld, nocturnal

as an outtake from Blade Runner.

Collar of your coat upturned,

you walk slow, now, cautious

as Harrison Ford; your pupils

flash, pale as a replicant’s.

She’s got those Sean Young bangs,

that vamp-red lipstick. Precise.

You wanted her. Now she’s yours:

her needle-sharp skin, her smudged

eyes, her caught-bird resentment.

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Rita Tiwari is a poet and fiction writer. Her poems are forthcoming or have appeared in Portland Review, CALYX, I-70 Review, and others. Her writing is inspired by urban landscapes, film noir, and mythology. She holds a Master of Arts in Writing from Portland State University and a Master of Fine Arts in Writing from Pacific University.