My Last Summer with Narcissus by Jozie Konczal

Saw us wither beneath the brazen
haze. Listen: I tried
to keep him
from starving. He carried
of water just for himself, never-
mind the thirst I acquired. When
the pool dried up he took dips
into my bed, beneath
the doting willow, which
too shriveled as summer
turned up her notch
on cruelty. I kept
the mirrors covered. Perhaps
he misplaced
his beauty in me—

I bristled beneath
the gazes of strangers but
turned languid
when gifted his glances.
Enchantment can
be shared. He held
my shoulders as though
they could wilt
beneath his hands. My window
let in enough moonspill
for him to find reflection in
the pale hollow of
my neck, the water
of my irises. I had only
a sliver of clouds to
drink from. Finally, they
grew swollen and broke
into rainfall. I followed
him back to water, he waded
waist deep
and I couldn’t harvest
the voice to beg him back.

Jozie Konczal is a freelance writer and poet with an MFA from the Jackson Center for Creative Writing at Hollins University. Her poems have been featured in Right Hand Pointing, Concho River Review, and Northern Virginia Review. She is also on the poetry staff of Cleaver Magazine, and is a contributing writer for EQ, a lifestyle magazine. 

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