Sleeping with a Fan
 
The tropics require fewer add-ons–
shorts, bathing suits, beach towels, fans.
 
On the shore I learned to find fault with my body,
gave my fitted blue dress to Judy
 
blue was her color, anyway.
After the Latin model, I developed copia, 
 
an abundant vocabulary.
Once, a  lover gave me a short story,
 
a test to see if I understood. I did.
I walked back and forth across the Pont Neuf
 
with a Dutch TV producer in the cinematic rain,
when we returned to his room,
 
what you imagine happening, happened 
in a big bed where I found amazement watching a ceiling fan
 
 go round.  If I ever said my life was balanced,
what I meant was, on the edge of a sword.
Wendy Taylor Carlisle lives in the Arkansas Ozarks. She is the author of two books, Reading Berryman to the Dog and Discount Fireworks and 5 chapbooks, most recently They Went Down to the Beach to Play from Locofo Chaps, 2017. Her poems are available in Cider Press Review, Josephine Quarterly, Kentucky Review, Mom Egg Review, Rat’s Ass Review, NEBO Journal, and Damfino. For more information, check her website at www.wendytaylorcarlisle.com.