Early light comes
through the blinds
unreplaced by
the blackout shades
we said but didn't buy
we said we'd
never have the dog
in bed but here
he is a sighing curl.
I reach my arm
over him to rub
my lover's arm
an arm that holds
my lover's phone
a phone filled
with bad news.
We said we'd say
no phones in bed
but here's
the arm I rub
he and the dog
notice my arm
in tandem he smiles
the dog licks
my elbow. We said
the dog would
kill the bed
but with a gentle
shove the dog's asleep
at our feet my arm
unlicked but roaming
searching for
the early heat.
Misha Solomon is a homosexual poet in and of Tiohtià:ke/Montréal. He is the author of two chapbooks, FLORALS (above/ground press, 2020) and Full Sentences (Turret House Press, 2022), and his work has recently appeared in Best Canadian Poetry, Arc Poetry Magazine, Geist, The Malahat Review, The New Quarterly, and Riddle Fence. His debut full-length collection, My Great-Grandfather Danced Ballet, is out this month with Brick Books. He is currently a student in Concordia University’s Interdisciplinary Humanities PhD program.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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