The back of your neck in a photograph
Dusk, starched collar, party clothes
A bit of white t-shirt peaking
Skin dark like it was summer
That piece of your hair
A bit too long, curling the way it does
Head stooped to hear someone beside you
Your elbow pulled back
I could slip my arm through its crook
Stand just behind you
My hand there on that space
Between the curl and the collar
I could re-live your texture

At a Friend’s House for Dinner

Karla Sutton