I wish I'd written this.

It Being A Free Country

Yesterday, swimming with you
arm over arm straight
to the center of the lake,
it occurred to me
that what I really wanted to do
was to swim up behind you,
run my hands across your back down round
to your belly.
I wanted to turn you around,
feel your mouth on mine--
the water was its own
free country, opening
smooth and clean
around my body,
but I did nothing. I turned over,
floated on my back, said a word
or two to the blank
blue above me--
Later in the day, I was out
in the field, bare-breasted,
on my knees, picking blueberries.
The heat from the hill kept rising steady
and constant into my body. I was distracted
watching my breasts extend their roses,
their promises, their don't you want to touch us
down to the berries
ripening at the roots of the grass.
There on the hill where the berries
grew freely, I bent into the blue fruit
staining my knees, my mouth,
my lips . . . I let the sun-warmed berries
open themselves in my mouth, and considered
what I wanted to say to you--
how I wanted to touch you--
what I would do after that.

Carol Potter
from Before We Were Born (Cambridge, MA: Alice James Books, 1990)