Danaë

I waited every night for you, spread my blood across the bed like a blanket.
Finally you arrived streaming in through the roof—a golden rain of many
leaves. When my maid caught you, you were gilt, so thin you melted on the
tongue, dissolved if wet. When you fell on me your leaves became blood, my
pillow blood, my blanket blood, the blood that ran both in & out from between
my thighs. I feel your hand slow & rough along the soft line from arm to
breast, my open mouth. Gold leaves light my hair, the lush smell of life rises
like a cry into the room.

---

Rachel Neve-Midbar’s collection, Salaam of Birds (Tebot Bach, December 2019), won the 2018 Patricia Bibby First Book Award. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Blackbird, Prairie Schooner, and Georgia Review as well as other publications and anthologies. Rachel’s awards include the Crab Orchard Review Richard Peterson Prize, the Passenger Poetry Prize and nominations for The Pushcart Prize. Rachel is currently a doctoral candidate at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. See more at rachelnevemidbar.com.